


Deception

by UMdancer98



Category: Batman (1966), Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, rich kids are still just kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UMdancer98/pseuds/UMdancer98
Summary: Batman decides that his oft-injured little bird needs a break so Bruce Wayne sends his young ward off to a summer camp.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: My False Face is based on the one from the 1966 TV show - his "real" face is just another mask. You know, that weird plastic base mask that scared little kids and didn't allow his face to show any expression. However, he does have facial expression ability when disguised as a different person. I have no idea why a villain would put a mask over a mask but...it is from the TV show. ;-)
> 
> Batman and Robin are loosely based off the 1960s TV show but go back and forth between genres and are sometimes completely out of any characterization. I write it the way it enters my head, which is not always "historically" accurate. Italics usually represent thoughts to oneself but are sometimes used to add emphasis. Thanks for reading!

** Prologue: **

**Three days ago:**

            Dusk falls over Gotham City.  The last rays of the bright afternoon sun stroll toward the western horizon.  Twinkling stars begin to appear as the darkness of night invades from the east.  Outside stately Wayne Manor, home of millionaire Bruce Wayne and his youthful ward Dick Grayson, all is peaceful and quiet.  The only sound is the trilling of a single nightingale, watching over her sleepy babies as she sings them a final lullaby.  But all is not peaceful inside the Manor, where two of the residents are in the middle of a louder-than-normal discussion regarding an impactful decision.

* * *

            “Come on, Bruce, this isn’t fair!  Don’t I get a choice in the matter?”  Thirteen-year-old Dick Grayson, annoyed with his guardian, was pacing in the living room. 

            “No, you don’t,” Bruce Wayne replied, his arms folded resolutely across his chest.  “The decision has been made and it’s final,” he continued, ready to weather the storm that he could see brewing in the teenager’s blue eyes.

            Alfred was quietly watching the scene unfold while dusting the fireplace.  He glanced down at the plush rug that had just arrived at the Manor yesterday.  Hopefully the younger of his two charges wasn’t going to pace a hole into the beautiful tones of blues and greens laced with silver threading.

            “But, what about Batman?” Dick asked as he stopped, placed his clenched hands on his hips and glared into Bruce’s eyes.  He realized too late that he had stopped in the wrong area of the room.  A final spot of sunlight hit his face and his glare was reduced to an angry squint.  It came back with a vengeance, however, when the sun finally relinquished its hold on the last tiny cloud and sank below the horizon.   

            “Batman will be fine,” Bruce stared back without flinching.  “He worked without Robin for over ten years.  He can handle himself for two months.”  He chuckled in his head at the scene before him but kept his face completely neutral.  The defensive stance and Robin-esque glare looked so out of place on Dick Grayson.

            “A month and a half,” Dick grumbled and resumed his pacing, hands clasped behind his back and eyes focused on the microscopic path he was creating on the brand-new rug.  “Why do I have to go?”

            “We’ve been over this already: Robin needs a little break so he can fully recover from injuries he has sustained throughout his short career,” Bruce allowed a slight tone of frustration to enter his voice.  “Need I remind you about the way your torso looked two weeks ago?  When you had three fractured ribs and purple bruises blossoming everywhere?  Or what about two months ago, when your right leg was nearly broken in half thanks to a lead pipe carried by a villain with a grudge against both of us?  Shall we review what happened just yesterday, when the headache you’ve had since Riddler dropped that vase on your head last week finally disappeared?  Do you want me to continue?  There are many, _many_ more injuries we can discuss,” a now-irritated Bruce glared at his ward, silently challenging the boy to dispute any of the evidence he had just laid out.

            Dick glared at the ground as he continued pacing – there was nothing he could say to that.  Robin _did_ get injured a lot but it was part of the job and his young body was capable of healing quickly.  He knew now that he wouldn’t be able to get out of going so he decided to get one last jab in before surrendering.

            “Couldn’t you have at least chosen something _fun_ , instead of a summer camp for snobby rich kids?” the teen asked as he stopped pacing, folded his arms across his chest, stood up as tall as he could and tried to look intimidating. 

            “Dick, those ‘snobby rich kids’ are part of your social circle, whether you like it or not,” now Bruce was struggling to keep the anger out of his voice, “and you need to at least be able to recognize them at parties.  You’ll have a chance to make new friends.  That will be fun, right?”

            Dick rolled his eyes, “It’s not like I’m going to be hanging out with them all the time.  What’s the point of making new friends when the only time I’m going to see them is at your parties?  Or some other rich person’s parties?”

            “This conversation is over.  Here’s the list of supplies; go pack,” Bruce nearly growled as he handed Dick a piece of paper, grabbed his shoulders, turned him around and gave him a little push toward the stairs.  “Trust me, it will be good for you.”

            Dick stalked up the twenty-two steps, mumbling under his breath the entire time.  Bruce shook his head then turned to see Alfred wearing an expression closely resembling a smirk.

            “If I may, Master Bruce, young Master Dick does have a point,” Alfred remarked as his near-smirk dissolved into a proper smile.

            “Thanks, Alfred, that’s really helpful right now,” Bruce replied, a little upset that his faithful butler seemed to be on Dick’s side.

            Alfred knew that look and quietly sighed.  “I’m not taking sides, sir.  I, too, believe that Master Robin needs recuperation time but it might have been easier on both of you if he had been included in the decision-making process.”

            “I’m his guardian,” Bruce declared crossly as he folded his arms across his chest again, “and I don’t have to include him!”

            “That is true, Master Bruce.  I apologize if I have overstepped my boundaries.”  Alfred nodded his head politely to his older charge but there was still a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

            It was Bruce who sighed this time, “No, I’m sorry, Alfred.  You’re probably right, I should have at least allowed him to have a say in where he was going.”  He shook his head again and left the room as Alfred turned back to the dust-free fireplace that he had been dusting for the last ten minutes.  The butler allowed a quiet chuckle to escape from his lips – both boys still had a lot of learning to do when it came to the guardian/ward relationship.

* * *

**Present time:**

            At Vista Peak, the camp that was going to be Dick’s home for the next six weeks, a man was leaning against a brick fireplace.  His right arm was resting on the cherry-wood mantel and his right foot was perched on top of the hearth.  He stared into the fire, his face blank but his eyes thoughtful.

            Mike, the camp director, walked into the front room of the main building, stopping briefly to study the short, brown-haired man who seemed to be brooding.  Mike had been hesitant about hiring the man, John, because of the borderline hostile disposition that had been on display during his interview.  John would be taking the place of a veteran staff member who had been severely injured in an automobile accident two weeks ago.  Mike had to scramble to find an employee and, although John’s manner was rough, the quality of his work was impeccable.  That’s what the parents were paying for – perfection.

            Vista Peak had come to life last week when the adults arrived to make preparations for the twenty teenagers that would be attending the first of three, six-week sessions.  Mike had been a little surprised when he saw John interacting with the other counselors: the hostility that the director had expected was no longer apparent.  The man was now merely reserved, never initiating a conversation or contributing more than a few words.  After the first few days his aloofness had faded slightly and Mike decided that he had made the correct decision when he hired the man.

            “John, we need your help setting up the tables in the cafeteria,” Mike stated as he walked into the man’s line of vision.  “Everything has to be perfect for the little angels,” he laughed, hoping it would bring John out of his seemingly unpleasant mood.

            John was startled out of his deep thoughts but nodded as he shifted his eyes from the fire to the tall, thin man with the nearly white hair.  False Face, however, rolled his smoky blue eyes when the director turned to leave.  One day; one more day and then he would have twenty “volunteers” on whom he could test his new mind-control substance.  Rich young teenagers always felt entitled and everyone was used to hearing them tell others what to do and how to do it.  Nobody would know that False Face would be the one giving the orders once he perfected the formula.

            The villain grinned in anticipation as he turned away from the fireplace and began strolling in the direction of the cafeteria.  Just before exiting the large wooden door of the main building, he glanced around once to confirm that he was alone then performed his signature heel click in the air and let out a quiet but shrill little laugh.  This was one of his best ideas and the Dynamic Duo wouldn’t even be aware of the situation.  It was going to be the perfect crime.


	2. Chapter 2

** Chapter 1: **

**The next morning:**

            “Be good, be nice and don’t show off,” Bruce instructed his ward as they, along with Alfred, stood on the wooden platform of the transportation depot and waited for the camp bus to arrive.  Taking a quick glance around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear, he added in a whisper, “And no Robin, _no matter what_.”  Expecting some kind of snappy response to the last statement, Bruce was surprised when Dick looked up at him with apprehension radiating from his expressive eyes. 

            “I don’t know how to be a rich kid, Bruce,” Dick sounded as worried as he looked.  “What if nobody likes me?  What if I seem like an idiot to them?”

            Bruce hid a smile, “I thought you didn’t care about making friends.”

            Dick’s eyes were wide with concern, “I don’t!  But I don’t want to be shunned, either!”

            Bruce couldn’t stop his grin this time, “You’ll be fine.  Nobody’s going to shun you.  They are all thirteen- and fourteen-year-old kids, just like you.”

            “But most of them probably already know each other!  What if I’m the only one…” Dick was beginning to sound a little panicked so Bruce put both of his hands on his ward’s tense shoulders.

            “Dick, you’ll be fine.  I bet you’ll have two or three friends, or at least acquaintances, by the time you get to the camp.  You will be fine.  Okay?”

            Dick looked at the ground, watching the early morning sun skipping around on the colorful rocks that littered the dirt landscape.  He knew he wasn’t going to be “fine” but he nodded anyway. 

            Bruce saw the expression on Dick’s face and recognized the scared little kid that he had taken in two years ago.  He moved his right hand down to his ward’s chin and lifted it so he could see his face.

            “It’ll be fun,” he said gently, “and six weeks will be over before you know it.  Just be yourself.  People will like the real Dick Grayson, not some kid trying to be somebody else.”

            “Okay, kids, let’s go, last goodbyes are over!  Everyone onto the bus!” Mike called as the fancy travel bus pulled to a stop alongside the platform.

            Dick sighed, grabbed his two black duffel bags and turned to load them into the storage area at the bottom of the bus.  With one last, anxious glance over his shoulder, he climbed up the three stairs and chose a window seat in the back.  Nineteen other kids began climbing on and finding places to sit.  Loud chattering sounds were coming from every part of the bus…except the three spots next to him.  Glancing out the large rectangle of glass, Dick gave a small wave to Bruce and Alfred then faced forward and tried to smile at the other kids, many of whom gazed condescendingly at him before sitting down.  The last two teens to enter were both tall boys who were so caught up in talking to each other that they didn’t even see Dick as they took the seats in front of him.  His small form got lost behind them and he stared at the backs of their heads as they lowered their voices to a whisper.

            “I heard there’s a new kid this year – Dick Grayson,” the boy with the blonde hair murmured.  “He’s Bruce Wayne’s charity case, something about his circus family being killed and Wayne feeling bad for him.”

            The taller, dark-haired boy laughed quietly, “A circus brat _and_ a charity case?  This’ll be entertaining!”  He opened a bag of something and both boys started crunching loudly while leaning back in their seats.

            Dick immediately regretted the soft sigh that escaped, a horrid stench assaulting his nostrils as he drew in the air needed to produce the barely audible sound.  The smell of whatever the boys were eating was nauseating – like old socks covered in skunk spray.  He rolled his eyes and attempted to breathe only through his mouth without outwardly plugging his nose.  The next six hours were, apparently, going to be a lesson on how to control his breathing. 

            The mocking words began to echo in his mind and Dick ran his left hand through his dark hair.  Robin’s “break” was off to a great start.  He already had two enemies and he hadn’t even spoken to anyone yet.  _You’re right, Bruce, this is going to be a lot of fun._

* * *

            Bruce watched the glistening silver bus pull away into the morning sun, leaving the distinctive odor of exhaust lingering in its place.  Dick would be fine – he had easily made friends at school and Bruce was sure he would be able to quickly make friends at the camp.  His ward was easy-going, smart and had a great sense of humor.  Rich kids were still just kids.  He would be fine.  A little tingle of worry settled itself into Batman’s brain but Bruce dismissed it to the back of his mind.  He was being paranoid.  Dick could take care of himself, even if he wasn’t allowed to be Robin.  _He’ll be fine.  There are ten adults and the camp is secluded.  He’ll be fine._   The words were reassuring but the memory of the anxious look on his young ward’s face was not.  He shook his head slightly then looked over at Alfred, “He’ll be fine.”

* * *

**Six hours later:**

            False Face watched the camp bus round the final corner and come to a stop at the front of the circular driveway.  Twenty little seventh and eighth graders came scrambling out and lined up for roll call.  Feet were stomping on the ground, hands were rubbing together and cheeks were turning pink as the teenage bodies attempted to acclimate themselves to the brisk mountain air.  The last one out was a small but strong-looking kid who seemed very familiar to False Face.  The man walked over to the boy’s end of the row as the counselors also lined up for introductions and, standing across from the teen, immediately recognized the dark hair and blue eyes of Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s ward.  False Face mentally scowled at the memory of his unsuccessful attempt to kidnap the kid a year ago.  Outwardly, though, he grinned.  He had complete access to the boy who belonged to the wealthiest man in Gotham City without having to go through the trouble of trying to abduct him!  The villain decided to use Dick near the end, when the drug was perfected.  What a great way to get close to the rich socialites – using the quiet yet engaging little ward of the millionaire.

            “…and Dick Grayson,” Mike called out, his right hand ready to check off the “present” box on his attendance chart.  Immediately, nineteen youthful heads turned in the new kid’s direction, waiting to hear him speak.

            Dick nervously raised his hand and tried to keep his voice steady, “I’m here, sir.”  He kept his head up and tried to look confident but inside his heart was pounding and he wasn’t even close to being sure of himself.

            A few of the teens giggled because _nobody_ had ever called Mike “sir” and the camp director sighed internally.  He had been fielding calls about Dick Grayson for almost two weeks.  Some of the parents had threatened to send their kids to a different camp if “that teenage gold-digger” was permitted to be at Vista Peak.  Somehow, Mike had convinced the angry parents that everything would be fine and most of them had finally agreed to allow their teens to attend.

            Everyone was staring at Dick.  They all knew he was the ward of Bruce Wayne and that made him interesting.  But they also all knew that he was from the circus and, according to some of their parents, that made him “conniving” and “shady”.  Many of the kids had been strictly instructed to stay away from him so that he wouldn’t be able to “take advantage” of them.  Dick was finally saved from the stares when the counselors began introducing themselves.

            “I’m John and I’m the head chef.  I’ve worked at several notable restaurants, including The Royal Mushroom Club in Gotham City.  I’m sure you will be completely satisfied with the cuisine I will be providing.”  False Face tried to smile engagingly as he looked down the row of kids.  His eyes narrowed slightly when he noticed Grayson studying him carefully but he immediately corrected the expression.  He couldn’t afford _any_ mistakes.

            Dick stared at the man across from him.  The shape of his face and the way he moved his hands when he spoke seemed familiar, as did the slightly nasal sound of his voice.  But, he and Bruce had been to The Royal Mushroom Club several times and the food was always delicious.  Maybe they had asked to speak to the chef in order to give him their compliments.

            Mentally shrugging at the vague feeling of familiarity, Dick turned back to the bus to grab his bags when he noticed everyone else start moving.  Quiet snickering could be heard and, as he turned around with the bags in his hands, he realized that all the other kids were walking up the small hill that led to the actual campsite.  It was the counselors who were starting to unload the luggage.  Some of the teens were walking backwards and watching, no, _sneering_ at him.  This time he mentally sighed.  He probably looked like an idiot and everyone knew he didn’t belong here.  This was not going to be fun at all.

            Mike heard the laughter and saw the contempt on the faces of several of his camp’s regular attendees.  He shook his head, walked over to Dick and gently removed the bags from his hands.  Dick looked up at him, eyes full of anxiety, and Mike felt a rush of sympathy for the boy.  That feeling was accompanied by one of anger at the parents who had obviously heavily influenced their children against the very thought of being nice to a kid from the circus.

            “It will get better,” Mike tried to reassure the thirteen-year-old.  “Just be yourself and you’ll be okay,” he unknowingly echoed Bruce’s final words.  Dick nodded miserably then turned and walked up the hill, head down and hands in his pockets.

            The tall boys who had been sitting in front of Dick on the bus, Walter and Bronte, were two of the kids walking backwards.  Both distinctly remembered a small figure and realized that they had been talking about Dick Grayson while he was directly behind them.  Walter glanced at Bronte and grinned.  The boy already knew how they felt about him but they would be sure to properly introduce themselves during lunch.  Facing forward again, they began formulating a plan to “welcome” the kid from the circus.

            Fourteen-year-old Serina glanced over her left shoulder, her long black hair blowing across her face, when she heard laughter.  She rolled her emerald eyes – the boys were already at it again and their target was the new kid.  Maybe she would introduce herself at lunch, give the boy a little break from the haughty stares of her companions.  Two of her friends called to her and she turned around to follow them.  Maybe she would talk to him but, she shrugged, maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In my mind Bronte is pronounced Brawn-tay but you can say it however you want. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story starts slower than my other ones so sorry if it gets boring. I have to set the scene and develop relationships. There will be more action soon, I promise!
> 
> Dick/Robin's "usual" birthday is not in the summer so I'm using Burt Ward's birthday (July 6) because it fits the timeline. :)

** Chapter 2: **

            All of the other teenagers had disappeared by the time Dick crested the short incline.  A quick feeling of relief washed over him.  The complete absence of people gave him the chance to memorize the layout of the camp without anybody staring at him like he was stupid. 

            There was a brick building directly in front of him, closest to the hill that he had just ascended, with a big sign that said “Welcome to Vista Peak”.  Peering through the open doors, Dick saw the office of the camp director and decided that this building was the main one. 

            There was another short hill on his right side and, upon turning that way, he discovered that it led down to the log cabins.  He studied their arrangement: one large one surrounded by seven smaller ones.  Each of the smaller ones had a gold number on the door but they were too far away for Dick to see.  There was a cluster of something on either side of the bigger cabin and he squinted.  They didn’t look familiar but then he saw the attachment raised above each one – shower stalls.  He shook his head in dismay.  _At least they have doors instead of just curtains._  

            Deciding to investigate the cabins first, he turned south and began walking down the hill.  His stomach reprimanded him for wandering toward the cabins instead of finding the cafeteria, however, so he changed his course and walked up another hill that led behind the main building.

            There was a long, rectangular structure in the distance and Dick assumed it to be the cafeteria.  Strolling in that direction, he passed a volleyball court, a flagpole displaying the camp flag, a second flagpole with the American flag and a basketball court.  About twenty yards east of those was a huge oval that he hoped was a track – running was one of his favorite activities.

            The thirteen-year-old rookie camper sighed softly as he continued toward the rectangular building, pulling his hands out of his pockets so he wouldn’t look like a scared little kid when he entered.  He noticed a big circle of black rocks surrounded by flattened logs and wondered how often they were going to have a campfire.  A small smile of anticipation sauntered through his blue eyes when he thought of burned marshmallows and melting squares of chocolate in graham cracker sandwiches.         

            Dick stopped just outside the open door of the cafeteria and tried to gather his courage.  What he really wanted to do was turn around, board the bus and go back to Wayne Manor.  _Get a grip; you’re Robin and you’re scared of walking into a room filled with kids your age?!_   Why was it that Robin could take on Gotham City’s worst criminals but Dick Grayson couldn’t take on his peers?  That was a stupid question because the answer was obvious: they weren’t really his peers.  They were all from affluent families and he was just a kid from the circus whose rich guardian had, for some unfathomable reason, decided that this experience would be good for his young ward.

            Taking a deep breath, Dick allowed the aroma of juicy grilled hamburgers to permeate his previously abused sense of smell.  He lifted his chin and strode confidently into the warm cafeteria.  Feeling confident and looking confident were two different things and, in all actuality, Dick was neither.  But nobody was paying attention to him anyway; most of the other teens were already sitting down and chatting or eating. 

            There were six long, rectangular tables – each one covered with brightly colored cloth and accompanied by an equally long but surprisingly drab-looking brown bench on either side.  The swirls of colors reminded Dick of the big tent where all the members of his circus family would gather to eat after a performance.  His breathing hitched slightly and a small lump arose in his throat but he quickly shoved the feelings away.  He was here to “have fun” and “make friends”, according to Bruce, and crying was not the best way to go about doing either of those two things.  There was one particular tablecloth that caught Dick’s eye: a solid red one with splashes of yellow darting around winding streams of light blue.  A slight grin crept onto his face as he thought of his bright Robin-suit and Bruce’s less colorful Bat-suit. 

            “What would you like, young man?” Dick was startled out of his thoughts when he heard the slightly nasal tone of the head chef and turned over his right shoulder.  The vaguely familiar dark-blue eyes of John were looking at him expectantly and Dick was not prepared for the sight before him.  The man was standing by a large silver rolling cart filled with trays of food: a pile of hamburgers with a slice of thick bacon wrapped around the middle of each one, bowls of creamy white soup with wedges of tender meat floating lazily on top, puffy baked potatoes draped in orange cheese, wild brown rice with slivers of a variety of colorful vegetables, velvety cheesecake with both strawberries and raspberries on the side and chocolate cake smothered in chocolate syrup then layered with chocolate chips and whipped cream.

            Dick’s eyes widened at the extensive display of food and he wanted to try a little bit of everything.  A quick glance around the room, though, suggested to him that it would be inappropriate to take more than one main dish, one side dish and one dessert.  John handed him a sturdy brown tray with silverware and a napkin folded in the shape of a delicate flower.  Dick’s eyes roved around the cart as he tried to make a decision.  He finally chose a hamburger, the rice and a good-sized square of chocolate heaven.  Three small white plates were placed on his tray and now he had to choose a drink.  Water, the best thing for his active lifestyle, was unexpectedly not on the smaller beverage cart.  The majority of the tall, dark-green glasses were full of choices: frosty cups of lemonade with ice clinking merrily inside, several different types of bubbly soda and the recognizably frothy surface of rich, white milk.  The first would go well with the hamburger and the last would go _really_ well with the cake.  Another swift scan of the room, however, showed only one glass in front of each teenager and pitchers of water on every table.  Shaking his head in slight disappointment, Dick grabbed an empty glass and placed it on his tray.  He noticed the chef give him a slightly quizzical look but dismissed it from his mind as he turned around to find somewhere to sit. 

            Table number one, on the far side of the room, was empty but Dick didn’t want to sit by himself and be more ostracized than he already was.  The two tall boys from the bus were staring at him from table number three and Dick was somewhat shocked when they both smiled and motioned him over.  He was confused and suspicious – they were going to be nice now?  After everything they had said on the bus and all the laughing, they were actually inviting him to sit with them?  Robin narrowed his eyes and tried to figure them out while Dick made his way past tables six, five and four.  Quickly arriving at his intended target, he carefully set his loaded tray on top of the table and sat down across from the boys. 

            “Name’s Walter and this is Bronte,” the dark-haired one said loudly through a mouthful of cheesecake.  “And you’re Dick Grayson, right?  Bruce Wayne’s ward?”

            “Nice to meet you and yes, I’m Dick Grayson,” he replied with a small smile while Robin glared at the mop of curly black hair on Walter’s head.  Dick reached for the pitcher of water and filled his empty cup to the brim.

            Bronte grinned, showing off his perfect white teeth, and attempted to look sheepish.  “So, uh, we’ve realized that you were sitting behind us on the bus and we just wanted to apologize for what we said.”  There was a short pause.  “And for laughing at you.  It’s just that we’ve never seen anyone go back for their bags and it was…interesting.”  Bronte was searching for a nicer word than the one that was in his head and that was the best he could come up with quickly. 

            Robin’s glare was now focused on the blonde crew cut and he growled as he recognized the meaning of the distinctive pause at the end of the sentence.  Dick, however, attempted to widen his grin and shrugged as if nothing had bothered him.  He picked up his fork and took a bite of the rice dish.  It was good, but not as good as he had expected.  Maybe the head chef wasn’t as accomplished as he had suggested when he had introduced himself.  Dick was just starting to take another bite when a question was tossed at him.  Reluctantly lowering his fork, it _was_ past lunchtime, he turned his attention back to the taller of the two boys.    

            “What’s it like living with Bruce Wayne?” Walter asked, his jaws now full of hamburger.  Dick briefly wondered if the boy knew how to talk without spouting food across the table with every other word.  Quickly pushing that thought away, he focused on answering the question instead of watching Walter shovel rice into his mouth.

            “It’s great!”  Dick loved Wayne Manor and Alfred and, of course, fighting crime with Batman so that question immediately brought him out of his shell.  “He’s really nice and Alfred, that’s his butler, is friendly and an amazing cook!”

            “You’re friends with his _butler_?” Bronte asked, surprised at the thought of conversing with a member of the staff.

            “Well, yes, he helps me a lot and…” Dick was quickly interrupted.

            “Grayson, you can’t be friends with the staff!” Walter stated, shaking his head in disbelief.  “How long have you been living with Wayne and how old are you?  We’re both fourteen,” he continued, pride evident in his tone.

            “I came to live with him about two years ago and I’m thirteen,” Dick noticed a glance pass between the boys.  “But I’ll be fourteen in a month and a half,” he quickly added. 

            “Close enough,” Walter shrugged.  “What’s your backstory?  How did you end up with the richest man in Gotham City?”

            Dick’s face paled, his body slumped and his eyes dropped to the cloth-covered table.  The question had blindsided him and a small shudder of grief at the reminder of that horrible memory ran down his body.  He felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes but he wasn’t going to cry in front of the only two people who were being friendly.

            “What’s wrong?  You don’t want to talk to us anymore?  Come on, Grayson, we’re the only ones who are actually being nice to you so…what’s your backstory?” Bronte’s tone was a little demanding.  Dick didn’t like the sound of it but he also knew that what the teenager had said was true.

            “Well,” his quiet voice was shaking slightly and he kept his eyes on the table, “we, I mean my family and I, were trapeze artists in a circus…” he was interrupted again.

            “Trapeze?  The one where you fly in the air and catch each other?  That’s so cool!” Bronte practically shouted and Dick looked up in surprise, the unexpected compliment causing his body to automatically straighten up with pride.  “Keep going,” the tall blonde urged.

            “One night, during a performance, a…” Dick paused and swallowed hard, “a man with a gun somehow got into the tent while we were flying.”  His pause was longer this time and the two boys glanced at each other and rolled their eyes when Dick dropped his head again.

            “Then what happened?” Walter’s voice held a tinge of frustration and Bronte elbowed him quietly under the table.  He mouthed the word “careful” and Walter rolled his eyes again.

            “Um, he shot…” Dick couldn’t continue because he knew the tears would fall if he did.

            “He shot a bunch of people but you got away?” Walter finished, tilting his head to the right in order to look at the kid skeptically.

            But Dick just sat there, not even trying to explain, and both boys sighed in annoyance.

            “Come on, finish the story already!” Bronte was more than a little demanding this time.

            Dick took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  Speaking as quickly as he could, with his words almost blending together, he continued, “He shot the trapeze wires while my parents were flying and they fell and they died and I couldn’t do anything except stand there and watch it happen!”  Dick didn’t realize how loud he had said it and the entire cafeteria fell silent as everyone turned to look at him.  The lack of noise worried him so he opened his eyes and lifted his head, his worry turning into embarrassment when he saw nineteen pairs of teenage eyes staring at him.

            Every single young camper in the room was shocked.  They hadn’t known the details; to them he was just a kid from the circus.  Bronte looked at the boy with newfound respect and decided that what he and Walter had just been planning was no longer what he was going to do.

            “I’m, uh, sorry, Dick,” Bronte whispered, his eyes wide with distress.  “That…I can’t even…I mean, my parents…” he trailed off, horrified at the thought of losing both of his parents in such a violent manner.

            Walter – who no longer cared and was sticking to the plan that had originally been Bronte’s idea – nodded indifferently.  “Yeah, Grayson, I didn’t know.  That’s rough.”

            All of the other teens had abandoned their lunches and were gathering around table number three, phrases of sadness and sympathy coming from all around Dick.  He dropped his head again, refusing to let the tears fall onto the table, and folded his arms across his chest.  It was hard to keep the tears at bay, though, and he quickly ran his right hand down his face in order to wipe some moisture from the inside corners of his pain-filled eyes.  There was suddenly a hand on his left shoulder and he uncharacteristically flinched.

            “It’s okay to cry,” a soft, female voice said and there were murmurs of agreement. 

            Dick decided to be strong, however, and lifted his head while shoving the tears to the back of his mind.  It didn’t work, though, when he looked across the table and saw Bronte.  The older boy was still staring at Dick with wide eyes and now had small tear tracks on both cheeks.  That did it.  Dick couldn’t hold his back anymore so he put his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands.  Someone sat down next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into an awkward half-hug.  Kids all around him were sniffling and passing napkins to each other as everyone, without meaning to, visualized their own parents lying on the ground…dead.  Nobody, with the exception of Walter, cared that Dick was a “circus brat” anymore.  The only thing that their young teenage minds could comprehend was the fact that this thirteen-year-old boy, one of their _peers_ , had watched his parents die a horrible death and had to deal with the memory of it every day.

            “Dick,” Bronte whispered in a slightly shaky voice, “I’m sorry I pushed you to tell us.”

            Dick shook his head and mumbled through his hands, “There was no way you could have known so there’s no need to apologize.”    

* * *

             False Face was watching through the oval window of the kitchen door.  Wayne’s kid had suddenly been accepted into the group and False Face didn’t know why.  He frowned; he wasn’t used to not knowing what was going on during his own crime.  This would need to be investigated immediately.  There was no time now, however, because he was being called over by one of the other counselors – they had to clean up the mess that was the kitchen.  He sighed in annoyance but, not wanting to cause suspicion, left the window and began to clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know, super sappy ending to the chapter. I didn't like making Dick so vulnerable but I wanted the kids to know his backstory and react to it. Not my normal strong Dick/Robin but he is only thirteen and way out of his comfort zone.


	4. Chapter 4

** Chapter 3: **

**One hour later:**      

            “Walter Jackson, Bronte Miller and Dick Grayson – you boys will be in number seven,” Mike called out as he gave the kids cabin assignments for the duration of their stay.  The three boys grinned at each other, although Walter’s was a tiny bit malicious.  Oblivious to the fact that Bronte had decided to forgo their plan, the dark-haired teen was eager to start working on the young orphan from the circus.

            Walter elbowed Bronte as they strolled toward their cabin.  “He’s ours for the whole six weeks!” he whispered excitedly. 

            Bronte glanced at him in astonishment, “Come on, Walter, give the kid a break.  He’s only thirteen and he’s already lost both of his parents!  I think he’s been through enough and we should just let it go.”

            “Are you serious?!” Walter asked loudly and Dick, who was walking a few yards ahead of them, glanced back.  Walter lowered his voice again, “The _only_ reason he’s here is because the richest man in Gotham City wanted some good publicity two years ago!  You said it yourself on the bus: he’s a charity case!”

            “Yeah, well, I’ve changed my mind,” Bronte mumbled and walked a little faster to catch up with Dick.

            Walter narrowed his eyes when Bronte asked Dick a question and the kid began talking animatedly.  The circus brat was trying to take his best friend away from him and he was _not_ going to let that happen. 

            Cabins one and seven were at the front of the circle of small buildings that surrounded the larger structure.  The big one, Dick realized as the boys approached the area, was the counselors’ cabin – instead of a number, there were gold letters that spelled the words “Adults Only”.  Dick pushed open the log door of number seven but was suddenly shoved aside by Walter.  Bronte glanced at Dick with a shrug and both boys followed the dark-haired teen inside.  Dick was surprised at the sparseness of the small, square space.  It looked to be about two hundred and fifty square feet, including the tiny bathroom.  There were only three pieces of furniture in the place: a bunkbed, a single bed and a large, six-drawer dresser.  Detailed pictures of tiny forest animals were carved into the sides of the oaken beds that were pushed up against the southern and northern walls, respectively.  Flush with the western wall, the dresser was made of pine and it, too, had detailed carvings on its sides. 

            The single bed was only a few feet east of the now-open door and Walter had already claimed it.  Dick, with a slight nod, deferred the choice of top or bottom bunk to Bronte, who grinned and climbed up and over the low headboards of the connected beds.  Sometimes there were advantages to being short and Dick was grateful that he could sit on the soft mattress of the bottom bunk without hitting his head on the top.  He automatically scanned the room for escape routes and found that the only exit, besides the door, was a small window on the eastern wall. 

            Walter glanced at his watch, “We’ve got a little while before dinner.  What do you guys want to do?”  His question was answered when they heard Mike’s voice blast through the speakers placed in strategic places throughout the camp.

            “Ahhh, outdoor recreation,” Mike mused ponderously.  “That age-old way to release energy and enjoy nature while having fun.”

            Walter and Bronte rolled their eyes – they had been hearing the same first-day-of-camp speech for five years now – and Dick grinned at the semi-serious tone exuding from the voice of the camp director.  The older boys started to mouth along and the younger began shaking his head, laughter flying around in his blue eyes.

            “We here at Vista Peak Camp would like to welcome you and invite you to begin your adventures with some delightful games.  This afternoon there are two choices for your exercising pleasure: basketball and volleyball,” Mike’s voice was full of mirth as he mimicked a proper camp director welcoming his refined charges to his upscale camp.  Changing to a less genteel tone, he continued, “So get out here and have some fun, kids.  There’s about an hour and a half until dinner and the chefs in our restaurant will only allow well-exercised teenagers to consume their delectable food!”

            Walter, Bronte and Dick all chuckled and headed toward the door.

            “Volleyball?” Bronte asked, although he already knew Walter’s answer.

            Dick grinned.  “It’s hard to play basketball when everyone is a foot taller than you,” he exaggerated, “so I’m going with volleyball.”

            Bronte laughed again and Walter attempted to cover his snort of derision by coughing.    

* * *

            False Face was sitting at his desk in the counselors’ cabin, re-reading the directions in the tattered brown “recipe” book that Scarecrow had given him while they were in Arkham together.  The Master of Fear had given up on this particular drug but the Master of Disguise had tinkered with it and was ready to test it. Who should he try it on first?  The villain knew that he couldn’t just put the liquid formula into all of the food.  It would be suspicious and, as the head chef, the blame would fall on him.  Reaching to his right, he picked up the list of kids and ran his index finger down the names, pausing for a second on Dick Grayson but then moving on.  Serina Jones?  He tapped her name as he thought about it then frowned.  The pro of having a test subject was outweighed by the two cons: she had a lot of close friends and, since he was a gentleman, he didn’t want to start with a girl.  His finger slid back up to Dick Grayson and paused for several seconds this time.  It was tempting, but he shook his head and continued down the list.  Dick would be the first one after he had perfected the formula.  John’s face brightened with a genuine smile as he thought of Bruce Wayne’s extravagant mansion and pictured little Dick Grayson rifling through the safes.

            False Face had his back to the door but he heard the creak of wood and then the heavy footsteps of one of the other counselors.  The delightful images in his mind faded quickly.  Quietly, he shut the book and carefully put it in the only drawer in his desk, hastily locking it and pocketing the key.  He rolled his eyes and grimaced in irritation.  The person who had chased away his thoughts was probably going to talk to him.

            “Hey, John, how’s it going?” Donovan, who had been trying to be nice to the still slightly standoffish man, smiled when John stood up and turned around to look at him.

            False Face subtly studied the tall, muscular man and knew that he needed to continue to try to be pleasant in order to avoid suspicion later.  He smiled back, as best as he could, and replied, “I’m doing well, yourself?”

            Donovan was a little surprised by the sort-of smile on John’s usually passive face but he tried not to show it.  “I’m great.  Hey, the kids are going to have some free time for about an hour and we’re slated for supervision.  Most of them are going to the basketball court but there are seven or eight already teamed up for volleyball.  Which one do you want to take?”

            False Face rolled his eyes again, although this time it was in his head, and decided to take the slightly smaller group.  “Volleyball is one of my favorite sports so it would be entertaining to watch the kids play, if you don’t mind.”  He was proud of himself for thinking to add that last part.  Sometimes it was a struggle to be nice to the other annoying adults who really _were_ here to make sure the kids were safe and having fun.

            “Alright, I’ll take basketball, then.  Have fun out there!” Donovan grinned as he pivoted and walked out the open door.

            _Volleyball?  I don’t even know what that is!_   False Face shook his head, put on his best smile and left the cabin to watch some bratty rich kids play some kind of stupid game.

* * *

**Eight hours earlier:**

            “How do you think he’s doing right now, Alfred?” Bruce asked as they exited the long, black limousine upon arriving at stately Wayne Manor.  “Do you think he has friends yet?”

            Alfred outwardly smiled but chuckled in his head.  The bus had left less than two hours ago and it was a six hour drive to the camp up in the mountains.  “I’m sure he is doing fine, Master Bruce,” he replied.  “Master Dick is an engaging and likeable young man.”

            “I know,” Bruce replied but his words were surrounded by a tint of concern.  “I can’t help feeling like something is going to go wrong.”  He shook his head, “Am I being paranoid?”

            “Perhaps, sir, but you have the right to be worried,” Alfred continued to smile at his older charge.  “It _is_ the first time he is away from us since he arrived here and you know that he is not allowed to protect himself like Master Robin can.”

            “That doesn’t really help, Alfred,” Bruce grumbled.  “So, I’m not being paranoid?”

            “Master Bruce,” Alfred remarked gently, “I am merely voicing the thoughts that are written all over your face.  Remember that Master Dick _can_ defend himself, although not as easily as Master Robin, and there are ten adults to supervise twenty young kids.”

            “You’re right, of course.  He’s going to be fine, he _is_ fine, everything is fine…” Bruce trailed off as he walked toward his study.

            Alfred smiled again as he watched Bruce walk away.  “Everything is fine,” he echoed quietly, dismissing the small tingle of worry in the back of _his_ brain.

* * *

**Present time:**

            False Face was leaning against the cold metal of the shorter flagpole, bored out of his mind.  The kids on the volleyball court had already chosen teams and were ready to start playing.  False Face heard Walter explain the game to a very un-athletic looking boy with gangly limbs and almost rolled his eyes when he discovered the rules.  Why these idiotic rich kids enjoyed hitting a ball across a net over and over he would never know.

            Dick loved the sport of volleyball.  He was very athletic and his favorite part of the game was diving after balls that everybody else was too slow to get to or too scared to touch.  Bruce had told him not to show off but was it really showing off if he was quick enough to save a ball for his team?  He shrugged and took his spot in the back row, hoping something interesting would happen that would allow him to be competitive without “showing off”.

            Walter was captain on the other side of the net and his first choice had, of course, been Bronte.  The circus brat wasn’t going to take away his best friend and he stoically avoided looking at the kid the entire time they were choosing teams.  Dick was so small that he had been chosen last and Walter secretly smiled at that.  The boy didn’t seem to mind, though, and that surprised him.  _He’s probably used to it; nobody in their right mind would ever choose someone whose head just barely reaches over the bottom of the net.  He can’t even see what’s going on!_   Walter shook his head and grinned as a plan formed in his mind.  He was serving and knew exactly where he was going to aim.

            Dick was ready to receive the serve, hoping it would come his way.  It did, but it was much faster than he had anticipated and he didn’t back up enough in time to hit the ball correctly.  It bounced off the insides of his elbows and smacked him in the face.  Some of the other kids started laughing and Dick was embarrassed again.  He attempted to grin through the pain but knew it probably looked more like a grimace.  After tossing the ball back over the net, he ran a hand over his already-swelling left eye and backed up a little bit.

            Walter was one of the ones laughing.  The kid obviously hadn’t expected to receive a line-drive serve aimed at his face and had made a fool of himself.  The dark-haired fourteen-year-old grabbed the ball and pretended to be serving away from Dick but instead slammed it toward him again.  The poor little circus brat would have a broken nose by the time he was done.

            The hit to the face that Dick had received amused False Face – the kid was going to have a black eye from that.  He wondered if he was supposed to do something but the teens were laughing and returning to their places on the court so he shrugged and returned to his state of boredom.

            Dick was relieved when Walter turned to serve to the other side of the court; it was a little difficult to see out of his slightly puffy left eye.  He was startled, however, when the ball came flying at him again.  Quickly taking another step back, he allowed it to correctly hit his forearms and aimed the ball toward a girl in the middle.  Serina received it and set it to another kid who was able to spike it down hard right in front of Bronte.  Dick cheered with his teammates and grabbed the ball to serve.

            Walter frowned in disappointment – somehow Grayson had received the ball and was even able to direct it to Serina.  He shrugged and looked forward to seeing the small boy fail to serve the ball over the net.

            Dick had been embarrassed when the game began but the way he could serve overruled everyone’s memory of the hit to his face.  He was short but he was also strong; his overhand serve flew past the front row and suddenly dropped to the ground just inside the white line.  Some of the kids glanced at him in surprise – he briefly wondered if he had shown off – and the game continued with no further issues.  Half an hour later the whistle sounded and the kids headed toward the cafeteria for dinner.

            False Face had been studying Dick carefully throughout the entire game.  The kid’s movements were smooth and slightly familiar.  Where had he seen that kind of fluidity before?  Grayson was an acrobat, though, so the villain dismissed the feeling of recognition.  He would have been surprised if the boy _wasn’t_ agile. 

            Bronte grabbed Walter’s arm as they walked toward the cafeteria, slowing them down until they were at the back of the group of young teenagers.  “What was that all about?” he whispered angrily.

            Walter attempted to look innocent.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied.  “I tried to hit it away from Grayson the second time but my sore rotator cuff didn’t allow me to aim very well.”  He carefully rolled his serving shoulder to prove his point and Bronte rolled his eyes.

            “Right,” Bronte retorted sarcastically.  “The best server on our volleyball team at school couldn’t aim his line-drive serve because of a sudden “ache” in his shoulder.  The Walter Jackson I know is too competitive to let a small injury affect his game.”

            Walter grinned and ran to catch up with the rest of the group.  Bronte was upset with his best friend.  Dick didn’t deserve a black eye, nobody did, and Walter was obviously going to continue with the idiotic plan that Bronte had already dismissed from his mind. 

* * *

            False Face was in the kitchen with most of the other counselors when Mike stormed in, his face furious and his fists clenched.

            “John, weren’t you supposed to be watching the kids who were playing volleyball?” he demanded.

            False Face was surprised at the look and tone.  “Yes, and I did and everything was fine,” he replied, trying to keep the defensive anger out of his voice.

            “You call the beginning of a black eye on the face of the ward of _Bruce Wayne_ ‘fine’?!” Mike shouted incredulously.  “Why didn’t you stop the game and get some ice?!”

            Thinking quickly, False Face replied, “He kept playing, he didn’t look like he was hurt too badly and the kids would have been unsupervised if I had left.”  The villain was annoyed now and accidentally allowed a slight trace of irritation to enter his voice.

            “Serina told me his eye was turning purple and swelling before Walter even had a chance to serve the ball again!” Mike was now red in the face and everyone in the kitchen was watching the exchange.  “If anything like this happens again I will have no choice but to relieve you of your position at this camp.”  Mike stomped out of the room and False Face quietly growled at the threat.  He kept his face calm, however, and turned to the rest of the staff.

            “Alright, it’s over, let’s get some dinner on the table for those starving kids out there,” he attempted to grin but didn’t quite make it.

            “Forget about it, John, it could have happened to anyone.  That kid is so small that you probably couldn’t even see the eye on his tiny face,” one of the other counselors laughed and that lightened the mood.


	5. Chapter 5

** Chapter 4: **

            Ten o’clock meant lights out but Dick was wide awake.  His slightly swollen left eye was still hurting, even though Mike had made him put an ice pack on it for at least ten minutes after dinner, and his brain was in overdrive.  John the chef looked very familiar and Dick was pretty sure that it wasn’t because of The Royal Mushroom Club.  The food they had been given today wasn’t nearly as good as it was in that upscale restaurant.  So, why did he recognize the man?  Could it be someone he had faced as Robin?  But, why would a villain be at a camp for rich kids?  It’s not like the kids carried around jewels or cash or other valuable things that criminals enjoyed stealing.

* * *

            False Face was awake, too, and prowling around the dimly lit kitchen deep in thought.  The villain had noticed the way Dick Grayson had been glancing at him all evening and it concerned him a little bit.  Did the boy suspect something?  He needed to find out but didn’t know how to do that without causing suspicion.  Maybe, instead of trying to avoid the teenager’s scrutiny, he should just give the kid a dose of the formula tomorrow.  It would be his first test and it would be interesting to see the results.  But giving an untested drug to the ward of Bruce Wayne, the richest person in Gotham City with connections to other wealthy people everywhere?  He didn’t want to chance losing the opportunity to control such a valuable mind.  He would just have to keep a close eye on Dick.

* * *

            Batman was also awake and standing in the Batcave, staring absently across the room.  His elbows were resting on the Hyper-Spectrographic Analyzer, hands clasped together and chin on the resulting fists.  It was Dick’s first night away and Batman couldn’t help it – he was worried.  But he realized that there were no legitimate reasons to worry.  Everything was fine…probably.  He was just being his usual paranoid self…maybe.

            Vista Peak was supposed to be the safest camp that money could buy.  A doctor was there full-time and Mike, a former police officer, personally trained each member of the staff.  As a result, every counselor was CPR certified, knew basic self-defense techniques and could identify possibly explosive situations involving “personality conflicts” of enthusiastic young teenagers.  There had never been a major incident, or even a minor one, in the fifteen years of the camp’s existence.  Contingencies were in place for almost every type of emergency. 

_Almost._   Batman knew there were some situations that even the best police officer might not be able to handle, all of them involving villains of Gotham City.  What if Riddler went up there and held everyone hostage?  What if Joker went up there and started hurting the kids?  What if Two-Face went up there and began flipping coins, playing with the lives of _teenagers_?  What if something horrible was happening right now, while he was standing in the Batcave and doing nothing to prevent it?!

            Batman frowned – if anything bad _did_ happen, Dick wouldn’t think twice about becoming Robin.  It would be the young crime-fighter’s instinctive reaction.  Glancing over his left shoulder, Batman was relieved to see the extra Robin-suit in the same place where Dick had angrily thrown it last night after hearing that he wouldn’t be allowed to take it to camp. 

            But there was another problem: the young teen would automatically defend the lives of the other people in the camp, especially the kids.  Dick wouldn’t _look_ like Robin but he would _fight_ like Robin.  Many villains, and regular criminals, had been on the receiving end of some sort of acrobatic knock-out trick delivered by the Boy Wonder.  It was possible that the boy’s rather distinctive, athletic style could be recognized.

            And that brought up yet another problem: Dick would defend _others_ like Robin would.  But, when it came to his own safety, the boy would remember that Dick Grayson was not allowed to fight like Robin.  He wouldn’t want to disappoint Bruce or Batman so, although Robin would defend everyone else, Dick would do his best to keep his identity safe if he was the only one in danger.

            Alfred exited the elevator and cleared his throat, startling Batman out of his thoughts.  “It’s the Batphone, sir,” he said, surprised that Batman hadn’t heard the steady beeping sound that was only two desks away from him.

            Batman straightened up while turning to his right and looked over at Alfred, realizing that he had been hearing that noise in the background for several minutes and had dismissed it as unimportant.  He shook his head and strode toward the blinking red light.

            “Thank you, Alfred,” Batman nodded then picked up the phone.  “Yes, Commissioner?”

            With those two words, Batman switched into crime-fighting mode and his concern for his ward was pushed to the back of his mind.

* * *

            Dick quietly sighed and looked at his watch – 11:15.  He wasn’t even remotely tired and not being able to place the face of John was irritating him.  He needed to clear his head and the best way to do that was by working out.  He couldn’t go out and start fighting trees but he _could_ go to the cafeteria and pull out some of those thick, blue mats that he had seen earlier.  Dick wasn’t usually a rule-breaker but this, he felt, was a special circumstance.  Maybe it would help him figure everything out.

            Quiet snores were coming from the bed above him and the almost inaudible grunts of restless slumber were drifting from across the room – Bronte and Walter were both asleep.  Dick softly rolled out of bed and silently climbed out the open window in the cabin.  The moon was half-hidden by clouds, showering the camp in a misty glow, and the slight breeze that ruffled the mountain air was chilly.  Glancing around once to make sure he was alone, he raced soundlessly to the front of the cafeteria, only to find the door locked and all the windows shut.  Just as he turned north to go around the building in order to investigate the back windows, he heard a soft ‘squeak’.  He pivoted to go south instead and was surprised at what he saw when he peered carefully around the southwest corner: John was leaving the kitchen.  Why was John in the kitchen so late?  That was a question for later because the door was Dick’s way in and it hadn’t closed completely yet.  Sprinting around the corner, he dove through the skinny opening and breathed a sigh of relief when the door shut and locked itself.  He quickly stood up, made his way into the cafeteria and started unfolding several of the heavy mats.  As he was lining them up, he realized that the moon was being finicky and tumbling would be dangerous.  Turning back toward the kitchen, he strode to the row of switches by the door and flicked up the one that controlled a small cluster of lights on the east side of the room.

* * *

            False Face heard the crunch of leaves and glanced back at the kitchen.  The door was just closing but he decided to go back and check to make sure it was locked.  He returned, tested the door and started to leave when he heard a quiet noise.  He crept around the southwest corner of the building and saw a shadow pass by a moonlit cafeteria window.  Dropping to the ground, he crawled over to it and peered carefully through the slightly dusty rectangle of glass – somebody was pulling out and lining up the mats.  He lifted his head a little higher and squinted.  The body was short so it couldn’t be one of the counselors preparing something for the next day.  The figure walked through a slim ray of moonlight and False Face was surprised to see the slight build and darkened left eye of Dick Grayson.  What was the boy doing in the cafeteria so late?  It was too late to answer that question because Grayson had just turned on a square of lights on the other side of the room.  False Face scurried away before the kid could have a chance to see him.

* * *

            Walter stretched and opened his eyes as he turned over.  They started to close again but popped back open when he saw Dick’s empty bed.  He grinned; he could get the boy in trouble but he had to find him first.  The door was still tightly shut and Walter would have heard it creak open.  Dick must have gone out the window.

            “Bronte!” Walter whispered loudly, realizing he would need another person to confirm to Mike that Dick had left the cabin first.  Bronte groaned and rolled onto his left side, away from Walter, without answering.  Walter didn’t whisper when he said it again and Bronte slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

            “Whaddya want, Walter?” Bronte’s voice was sleepy and annoyed.

            “It’s Grayson; he’s gone!” Walter replied.

            “Gone!” Bronte’s eyes were wide open now and he leaned over the edge of the top bunk.  Walter wasn’t joking – Dick was nowhere to be seen.

            “Should we go look for him?” Bronte asked, a little worried about what might have happened to his new friend.

            “Yeah, maybe he’s in trouble or something,” Walter replied.

            The boys got out of bed and glanced at the small window, contemplating an attempt to get through it, but both quickly came to the conclusion that neither of their bodies would be able to fit.  This was one area in which Dick, they realized, had an advantage.  They turned toward the door instead and opened it as quietly and carefully as they could.  The natural creak of the wooden door sounded, to them, like a loud boom of thunder and they froze in the doorway.  Nothing moved, nothing happened and they relaxed slightly.

            “Where should we go first?” Walter whispered as the moon vanished completely behind three clouds that had suddenly decided to huddle together.

            “I guess we could start at the cafeteria?”  Bronte whispered back.  “But we can’t just go blundering around in the dark.”

            “I’ll get my flashlight,” Walter replied and turned around.

            Before he could re-enter the cabin, the moon obliged them by allowing a shimmer of silvery light to shine through the thinning clouds.  The boys took off in the direction of the cafeteria, glancing guiltily around every few seconds.

            The clouds regained their grip on the night sky, covering the moonbeams that were trying to escape from the darkness surrounding them.  Just as the moon disappeared again, the two boys rounded the corner of the cafeteria and saw light shining through a window.  They knelt down on the ground and, like False Face before them, crawled to the window and peered over the edge.  The lights on the far side of the cafeteria were on and Dick Grayson was flipping his way down a line of thick mats.

* * *

            Dick was flying and his mind was clearing.  He took off again – round off, back handspring, double twisting layout with a back extension roll out of it.  He shook his arms out then re-did the entire thing going the other way, adding a third twist and cutting out the end roll.  This was exhilarating and he didn’t want to stop.  He knew he would have to go back to bed soon, though, so he decided to throw one of his hardest tricks as his grand finale.  He jumped up and down a few times, rolled his neck once then sprinted down the mats – round off, back handspring, tuck double back.  He landed short but felt no pain so he shrugged it off, although he was a little disappointed in himself.

* * *

            Walter and Bronte were staring through the window, their entire heads in plain sight and their jaws dropped open.  Dick Grayson looked like he was floating, he was so smooth in the air, and they were both a little jealous of his athleticism and skills.  They watched him begin to fold up the mats then looked at each other and ran back to their cabin.  Dick was climbing in the window five minutes later and he quickly fell asleep.  Now it was Walter and Bronte who were wide awake: Bronte was trying to think of a way to get Dick to show everyone what he could do while Walter was deciding which counselor he should tell.  It was half past midnight before all three boys were sound asleep.   


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who have given kudos! :)

** Chapter 5: **

**Several days later:**

            No matter how many times or ways he asked, Bronte could never get Dick to agree to show the other kids what he was capable of doing.  Dick had stayed in bed every night when he found out that his bunkmates had discovered him.  It was hard to fall asleep – he wanted to fly again and he still couldn’t figure out why he recognized the head chef.  The man who, according to some of the kids, had either lied about his “fine cuisine” skills or was tired of making tasty meals. 

            Walter, after only three days at the camp, had given up on harassing Dick.  Everyone else enjoyed having the boy around and Dick never really reacted to the things Walter did.  So he, like all the other “snobby” rich kids, decided to be nice to the quiet, witty, talented and friendly ward of Bruce Wayne.

            False Face was frustrated with both the formula and the other adults, who kept getting in the way of his experimental time.  It seemed like someone was almost always in the kitchen – cutting vegetables, baking bread or doing some other type of meal preparation – so he couldn’t work on the formula in there during the day.  It was difficult to work on it in the counselors’ cabin at night because that overly friendly man Donovan was a light sleeper.  He had tried to go for several walks in the woods but had been called back every time by Mike, who needed him to do something or other for some stupid kid in this stupid camp.  Nothing was going the way it was supposed to and he decided he would just have to sneak into the kitchen late at night, after everyone had gone to bed, in order to perfect the recipe.

            He had been testing his liquid drug on different kids – stirring small amounts into soups, salad dressings and any other type of food where it would be inconspicuous – and nothing was affecting anyone.  Some of the kids were quietly complaining about the taste of the food but that was the extent of it.  Also, Dick Grayson was continually watching him and False Face had begun to feel uneasy whenever he was around the boy.  He didn’t like that feeling and was actually thinking about testing Dick even though the drug was obviously far from perfect.   

* * *

            “I haven’t talked to him since he left!” Bruce was shouting in the general direction of Alfred, upset with the camp director for not allowing phone calls unless it was an emergency.

            “That is a good thing, Master Bruce.  It means that Master Dick is doing well and nothing evil is happening,” Alfred replied and almost rolled his eyes.  Bruce had been saying the same thing every day since Dick had left.

            “Yet,” Bruce growled and Alfred raised his eyebrows at the one word reply.  “Nothing evil is happening _yet_ ,” he clarified when he saw the look on his butler’s face.

            _BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._   They heard it at the same time and Bruce retreated to his study.

            “Yes, Commissioner?  False Face…when?  And you just found out?!” Bruce yelled angrily when Commissioner Gordon told him that the villain had escaped from Arkham almost two months ago and the warden had waited until today to inform the police department.  The commissioner was telling him the excuses supplied by the prison guards but Bruce just shook his head and hung up the phone without saying anything else.  He flipped the switch, waited impatiently for the bookcase to slide out of the way then ran to his pole and slid down to the Batcave, landing on the cushion as Batman.

            This was it, Batman knew it.  This was why he had been feeling like something was wrong.  False Face, the master of disguise, was out of prison and could be anywhere – like at a certain camp with a certain young teenager who was not allowed to become a certain crime-fighter.  He picked up the Batphone in the Batcave, apologized to the commissioner for hanging up so abruptly and asked him to call Vista Peak Camp to find out if anything unusual had been, or was, happening.

            “I don’t want to unnecessarily alarm the director, Commissioner, so please do not tell him about False Face,” Batman requested before he hung up.

* * *

            “Unusual?  Like what?” Mike asked when he received the call from Commissioner Gordon.  He listened carefully as the commissioner explained that Batman was merely performing a security check on the camp because of its clientele.  Mike assured the commissioner that he would keep an eye out for anything suspicious then hung up the phone and called the nearest counselor, who happened to be Donovan, into his office and closed the door.  The director trusted the veteran staff member so he told him the situation and asked him to watch the other adults carefully.  Donovan agreed to do so and Mike was satisfied that everything would be fine.

            False Face was strolling through the front room of the main building on his way to the counselors’ cabin when he heard murmured voices coming from Mike’s office.  He paused near the closed door and nearly stopped breathing as he tried to make out the words that were being passed back and forth between Mike and the recognizable voice of the tall, muscular and somewhat intimidating Donovan.  Frowning as he caught some of the phrases, False Face realized that the commissioner of Gotham City knew that he had escaped from Arkham and had already told Batman.  In all probability, though, the Caped Crusader wouldn’t come up to a camp full of _teenagers_ to look for him so he felt relatively secure.

* * *

**Several days later:**

            Dick had to admit it: he was having fun at the camp.  There were so many diverse activities, from sports to creative writing and everything in between.  Most days the teens were given a set schedule of activities but once a week they had an entire afternoon to do whatever they wanted – as long as it was legal, safe and cleared by Mike.

            Every day they played a variety of sports and sometimes Dick had to struggle to restrain his athletic abilities, specifically any that could connect him to Robin.  It was especially difficult during track competitions – he was fast and hated to lose.  His legs were strong from training every day and chasing villains almost every night.  Robin could run down almost all of the teen criminals he had ever faced.  The Boy Wonder could also catch many of the adult villains, if they didn’t get too big of a head start.  So Dick Grayson, the thirteen-year-old ward of a millionaire, couldn’t allow himself to sprint full-out every time he competed.  It nearly killed him whenever he lost a race, which he reluctantly tried to do at least twice a week.

            It had been almost three weeks since his late-night tumbling session and Dick was becoming restless.  He had to fly again.  All the activities were fun but he couldn’t train or tumble, two of his favorite things to do.  Robin was in danger of being soft by the time he returned to crime-fighting and Batman might not let him go out right away.  So, he _had_ to fly again, and Dick crawled silently through the window then raced to the cafeteria and the mats that were calling his name every time he was in there.

            Dick was surprised when he arrived at the kitchen and saw a sliver of light glowing under the door.  He crept around the southeast corner and peered through the half-open square of glass next to the refrigerator.  John the chef was there, over by the sink and stirring something in a small pot that was sending up a lot of steam.  Dick stared at the man’s familiar profile, trying to figure out the connection between himself and the head chef.  John took a step away, moving out of Dick’s line of sight, and the teenager saw a familiar-looking book with small pictures and curling, yellowing pages.  However, he couldn’t remember where he had seen it before.  The short list of things that he recognized, but didn’t know how or from where, grew from one to two – John and the recipe-like book. 

            The chef soon returned and Dick was surprised to see him holding a plate of food that resembled what the kids had eaten for dinner that night.  The man placed the dish on the counter, picked up the still-steaming pot and poured some kind of dark, bubbling liquid all over the fried chicken and slightly dried out corn.  The food instantly exploded with a quiet hiss and John slammed his fist on the countertop.  An expression of fury lined his features as he poured the remainder of the liquid down the sink and then threw the food into a nearby trash can.  He scrubbed the counter and cleaned the dishes he had used, quietly mumbling to himself the entire time.  After putting everything away, John glanced around once then flipped off the kitchen light and strode out the door. 

            Just as he had before, Dick slipped in through the closing kitchen door.  This time, however, he almost turned around and walked right back out.  An indescribably horrible smell assaulted his senses, causing him to quietly gag as unanticipated moisture sprung from his suddenly-burning eyes.  Before entering the kitchen he had known exactly what he was going to do.  Now, though, he had to make a choice: continue his plan and hope that the stench didn’t drift into the cafeteria or go back to bed.  It only took him five seconds to decide – having a chance to fully activate his athletic muscles prevailed. 

            Pulling the top of his shirt up over his nose and breathing through just his mouth, Dick went to the sink where a streak of moonlight allowed him to detect a final droplet of the dark liquid that was beginning to blacken a small spot of the silver basin.  The teen briefly debated whether or not to call Bruce but didn’t want to break another rule; he was already breaking a big one for the second time.  So, he filed all the information away and strode through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the cafeteria.  Pulling out the thick mats, he released his pent-up energy by soaring through several tumbling passes and completing his regular strengthening workout that he had neglected since his arrival at the camp.

* * *

            Batman was concerned for several reasons: there was no trace of False Face anywhere, the camp director hadn’t called to give any reports at all and there were still three more weeks before Dick would be safely back at Wayne Manor.  Why had he sent Dick to summer camp?!  He could have just ordered Robin to stay home for a couple of weeks and there would be one less thing to worry about.  False Face wasn’t particularly violent but he could be anyone, anywhere and that was worrisome by itself.  Batman berated himself for sending Dick up into the mountains with no way to protect himself. 

            Remembering the anxious look on Dick’s face the last time he had seen the boy, Batman suddenly wondered what Bruce had been thinking when he decided to send Dick to this particular camp.  Wealthy kids could be snobby and clique-ish, just like any other group of kids, and Dick didn’t look, sound or act like a “rich kid”.  That was something Batman hoped would never change but it was also something that could cause his ward to become the object of ridicule: an orphaned circus performer at a camp full of kids from affluent families.  Bruce Wayne, the rich socialite, knew many of those families and most of the young teens had parents who were insufferably snobbish.    

            Also, many of the teenagers attended the same schools and already knew each other.  Dick would have been the only one without an immediate connection to another kid.  If anyone was keeping track, because Batman certainly _wasn’t_ , Dick already had two strikes against him – his background and his lack of friends – before he even boarded the bus.  _What was I thinking?!_   Batman shook his head and promised himself that he would never send Dick to another summer camp.  _EVER_.

* * *

**Two days later:**

            False Face was irritated with little Dick Grayson – the kid never gave him a private minute.  That, combined with the fact that he could only work on his formula for a few hours each night, contributed greatly to his continuously rising level of frustration.  Dick was going to be tested now, the villain had decided.  If something bad happened to the boy, False Face would just have to find another way to get to Bruce Wayne and his connections.  So, it was with excitement and a little trepidation that he poured the entire six-ounce bottle of dark liquid onto Dick’s mashed potatoes and mixed it around with the brown gravy.  He quickly and discreetly shoved the container into his pocket when he heard someone talking behind him.

            “John, you’ve done this part almost every day at lunch,” one of the other counselors stated, walking in front of False Face and pointing to the rolling cart that was ready to be pushed into the cafeteria.  “Do you want me to take a shift?”  The villain mentally snarled at the man; of course somebody would offer on the one day that he actually _wanted_ to do it.

            False Face tried to grin but knew it probably looked very artificial.  “No, I’ll do it.  It’s not a problem.”  He gritted his teeth then forced himself to say, “Thanks, anyway.”  Talking to any of the adults was annoying now and he had begun to hate trying to be polite to them.  Giving the cart a gentle shove, False Face made it through the swinging door into the cafeteria and headed for the center of the room. 

            Half an hour before every meal, the counselors would set up the six tables in neat rows.  Five minutes before every meal, ever since lunch on the first day, the twenty kids would rearrange four of the tables into one giant square table.  Everybody could see everybody else and everyone could hear everyone else.  After about a week of this three-times-a-day ritual, Mike gave up on the neat rows and the counselors began setting up the giant square instead.

            Walter was sitting at the center of the table that was farthest away from the kitchen and Dick was sitting beside him.  The older boy was telling a story about one of his famous pranks and causing all of the kids to laugh.  “So then,” the dark-haired teen continued as the laughter quieted down, “she asked if she could have a bite and I gave her the side that the dog had been licking!”  Looks of disgust were passed around the table until Bronte started snickering.  The sound was contagious and soon all twenty kids had dissolved into hysterical chuckles and giggles.

            False Face mentally rolled his eyes as he pushed the serving cart toward the noisy square in the middle of the room.  Thirteen- and fourteen-year-old kids were all stupid brats and he was tired of being here and dealing with them.  He rolled his way around the four tables, placing plates in front of each kid, then stopped at the end of Walter’s table and “accidentally” knocked some things off his cart and onto the floor.  None of the teens paid any attention to him and False Face began cleaning his mess while he waited for Dick Grayson to begin eating.

            “Dick, what is that stuff?” Bronte, who was sitting on the boy’s left side, asked when he saw several black dots floating in the gravy on Dick’s mashed potatoes.

            Dick looked closely at it and shrugged while he watched John out of the corner of his eye.  The man had been cleaning something on the floor but had suddenly stopped and was staring in Dick’s direction.  The young teen glanced around at the plates in front of some of the other kids and realized that the tiny black bubbles were only on his dish.  He remembered the leftover liquid in the sink and decided not to eat the potatoes.  Walter, however, had other ideas.  He grabbed his own spoon, scooped a portion of the gravy off of Dick’s mashed potatoes and shoved it in his mouth.

            “Walter, stop!” Dick yelled as soon as he saw the spoon going toward the boy’s mouth.  But Walter grinned, allowing a little dribble of gravy to slide down his chin, and swallowed the entire spoonful.

            “It’s good; must be the protein from those tiny black ants,” he smirked and some of the other kids rolled their eyes and started to eat.  Walter was sitting on Dick’s right side and the younger teen watched the older teen’s face carefully.  He seemed fine so Dick turned his attention back to his own plate.

            Suddenly Walter was grabbing Dick’s right arm, gasping for breath and holding onto his throat.  Instinctively, Dick swung his right leg over to the other side of the bench and grabbed Walter under the armpits.  Pushing himself away from the table with his left leg, he rolled them to the right, the momentum turning them around in the air and causing Dick to land hard on his left side.  He somehow kept a secure hold on Walter’s torso as they were pushed onto their backs, his left shoulder on fire and both of them gasping for air.  The older teen’s breathing steadied as his chest opened up.  Dick was the one having trouble breathing now – all of Walter’s weight was pressed onto his small body – but he really didn’t care at the moment.  His friend was calming down and beginning to breathe evenly.

            The respite didn’t last long, though.  Thirty seconds after they landed on the floor, Walter was gasping again, his eyes wide with fear and his fingers scratching at his throat.  Using both hands, Dick pushed Walter’s almost-limp body up to sitting.  Turning his right arm horizontally across Walter’s back to support him, the younger teen used his throbbing left arm to push himself up then crossed his legs and laid Walter’s torso on his lap.  Panic was setting in and Dick couldn’t remember anything else that Batman had taught him about how to help someone who was having trouble breathing.  He was _Robin_ and he didn’t know what to do!

            All of the other kids were standing and screaming, most of them calling for help, but all Dick heard was the loud hiss of air that was released from the throat of the fourteen-year-old boy.  Shaking his head in distress, Dick slapped Walter hard on the face when the latter closed his eyes.

            “Wake up, Walter!” he shouted and slapped him again.  But Walter wasn’t moving now and, when Dick put his forefinger on the neck of his friend, he felt…nothing.  One of his friends had just died – no, had just been _killed_ – and the substance that had taken his life had been meant for Dick.  He looked up to where John had been standing – his eyes wide with horror – but Mike was there now, shooing the others away and prying Dick’s shaking arms, which were now tightly crossed diagonally against Walter’s torso, off the dead body.  The camp director hauled Dick to his feet, cringing at the slight whimper of pain that came from the young boy’s lips, and passed him off to another counselor. 

            Bronte saw the dazed look on Dick’s face so he grabbed his friend’s trembling body out of the counselor’s arms and pulled him into a hug, hoping the action would calm the erratic breathing coming from the chest of the younger boy.  There was a quiet grunt and Bronte felt Dick bring his right arm up to support his left shoulder, which was growing from slim to bumpy.  Donovan was the closest counselor and Bronte glanced over at the man and asked for an ice pack.  The boys sat down on the nearest bench and Bronte rolled up the sleeve on Dick’s left arm.  It wouldn’t go over his rapidly swelling shoulder, though, and Bronte didn’t know what to do next. 

            John was suddenly there with the ice and he roughly yanked Dick’s shirt off his body, listening with angry pleasure to the short yelp of discomfort that his action produced from the boy who was supposed to be the one on the floor.  False Face could tell that the shoulder was nearly dislocated so he grinned, in his mind, as he slapped the ice on and left. 

            Bronte stared at the scene in shock – it was as if John didn’t care whether or not he was hurting Dick!  Why did the man look so angry?  Why didn’t he secure the ice to Dick’s shoulder instead of just shoving the pack on the swollen circle of purple?

            Dick was surprised when it was _John_ who showed up with an ice pack.  But the pain in his left shoulder was intense and he couldn’t really concentrate on anything else, especially when his arms were suddenly thrown in the air as his shirt was jerked off.  He cut off a cry of agony, effectively turning it into a brief noise of what he hoped sounded like mild discomfort.  The feeling was anything but that – his shoulder was falling out of its socket and Dick couldn’t do anything about it because the ward of Bruce Wayne wouldn’t know how to reset his own shoulder.  Flinching as the hard pack of ice hit the most sensitive part of the injury, he slowly brought his shaking right hand up to hold it in place.  Dick’s hand didn’t make it there, though, because Bronte already had his left hand on the ice pack. 

            Bronte pushed his friend’s right arm down and grabbed the pack of ice that had already begun to slide off the boy’s injured shoulder.  As carefully as he could, Bronte placed it on the front of the joint, where the swelling was most noticeable.  He didn’t want to push too hard – it was obvious that Dick was in a great deal of pain – but he had to keep it secure so he apologized as he put his right hand on Dick’s shoulder blade and held the ice tightly in place.  He grimaced at the muffled groan that came out of his friend’s mouth and apologized again.

            The shoulder was throbbing and burning and Dick was starting to see colorful dots swirling around in his mind.  Bronte was pushing hard on his back, not knowing that the ice wouldn’t help until the shoulder had been reset.  Silently apologizing to Bruce, Dick dropped his head, shut his eyes, grabbed his left arm with his right hand and shifted it up and around until he heard the ‘pop’ of the joint sliding back into the socket.  He frowned when he saw a mental picture of the disappointment that would be on Bruce’s face.  Now, however, he was able to relax a little and almost allowed the colors to lead him away as they faded into darkness.  Mike was speaking to them, however, so Dick lifted his head and opened his slightly hazy eyes, attempting to focus on the camp director instead of the pulsing ache that was causing his left arm to tremble.

            “…get checked…med…main cabin.”  Dick hadn’t caught the entire sentence but Bronte was standing up now and Dick assumed that he was supposed to do the same.  The dizziness was unexpected and Bronte quickly wrapped his right arm around the swaying body of the younger teen.  Realizing that Dick wouldn’t be completely supported with just an arm around his waist, Bronte quickly moved to the other side, wrapping his left arm around the small midsection while draping the slumping boy’s uninjured right arm across his own broad shoulders.  Dick shook his head, trying to stay awake, and let Bronte guide him out the door toward the main building.

_Should have waited for the doctor.  Bruce is going to be so mad.  That considered showing off?_  Dick’s thoughts were scattered but the agony of his injury was lessening and, even though Bruce would be disappointed, Dick was grateful that he knew how to fix the problem.  He didn’t have to fight to stay awake anymore and he was able to walk on his own.  Almost able to walk, he realized, as he tripped himself by stepping on his own foot.

            “So, uh, did they teach you how to fix your shoulder like that in the circus?” Bronte had heard the earlier ‘pop’ and felt Dick begin to straighten up as they followed the path.  He was glad that he hadn’t released his hold on his friend, though, when the boy stumbled.

            Attempting to avoid the direct truth, Dick replied, “I was a trapeze artist; we were naturally plagued with shoulder injuries.”  That was true but a flash of guilt flew through his pain-filled eyes: it was Batman who had taught him how to fix it.  The two boys walked through the open door of the main building and turned left toward the medical room.  Bronte glanced at Dick and shook his head, wondering what kind of circus would teach a _child_ how to push his own shoulder back into its socket.     

* * *

**One hour later:**

            Mike sat in the worn-down chair in his office, elbows on his desk and fingers rubbing his aching forehead.  The calm expression on his face belied the torrent of thoughts that were splashing through his mind.  How does one call the parents of a _teenager_ to tell them that their son is dead?  Should he call Commissioner Gordon and, by extension, Batman?  The slight discoloration around Walter’s mouth suggested food poisoning but Mike had no idea how that could have happened.  He had been told that the only bite Walter had eaten was a spoonful of gravy off of the plate of Dick Grayson so he had examined that dish carefully.  Both he and the doctor, an emergency room physician who came up to camp every year, found nothing out of the ordinary.  Why had Walter decided to taste Dick’s food instead of just eating his own?  The boys had the exact same things on their plates: a thick, juicy slice of meatloaf, fluffy mashed potatoes with gravy the color of milk chocolate and carrots smothered in a gooey honey glaze.  

            A thought made him pause in his musings: could Walter have been allergic to something?  Opening the top drawer on his right side, Mike sifted through the confidential files of the kids and quickly found the one that belonged to Walter Jackson.  He opened the manila folder and scanned the personal information, the allergy information and the “other comments” section at the end.  There were no allergies listed but there was a large arrow at the very bottom of the page, pointing to the right.  Mike flipped the page over and groaned: a long list of every single little thing that the boy could _possibly_ be allergic to.  Walter had an over-protective mother and the director’s dread of informing her of the teen’s death suddenly increased exponentially.  He ran his finger across the list:

            Grass, seaweed, peanuts, dog hair, sausage, human hair, sheep, milk (mild), dust, paint, potatoes, mold, the ocean, bats, mothballs, generic laundry detergent, cat saliva and silk

            Frowning in concentration, Mike ticked off every relevant “allergy” on his fingers and realized that Walter had not displayed any normal allergic symptoms to anything until he had eaten some gravy off of the mashed potatoes.  The reaction to that particular listed allergy had been severe so, since his parents must have known about it, why hadn’t they given the camp director an EpiPen?  The medicine contained in that injection device could have saved the boy’s life!  Mike stood up and turned to the small cabinet behind him, opening it and staring at the display – Benadryl, acetaminophen, ibuprofen and other regular medications but nothing out of the ordinary for any of the kids.  Prescription drugs were always bagged and labeled with the name of the teenager before the kids left the bus depot.  There were no bags…at all.

            Mike sat in his chair again, circled “potatoes” on the list of Walter’s possible allergies and picked up the phone to call the kid’s parents.  It rang once, twice, three times and then he listened to the outgoing message.  Mike rolled his eyes and shook his head – of course Walter’s entire family was out of the country and had left no emergency numbers.  There was no way to contact _anyone_.  Even the staff must have been given at least a month off!  Leaving an unfortunate message on the machine and hoping that Walter’s parents could somehow check their voicemail remotely, Mike replaced the phone and looked up the number for the morgue in the hospital where his trusted physician worked.  At least Walter’s body would have a “nice” place to stay, as opposed to a grave at a camp in the mountains. 

            After making arrangements for the body to be picked up, the director decided that a call to Commissioner Gordon was unnecessary.  Allergic reactions were probably not what the police department would consider “unusual events”, even though this one had resulted in a death.  The parents were partially at fault for not providing the correct medication, although he wasn’t going to bring _that_ up when he talked to them.  Now that he had more information, there was no reason to suspect foul play.  The knowledge that the potatoes had been on _Dick’s_ plate slipped from Mike’s mind as he sighed, closed his tired eyes, leaned back in his chair and allowed himself a moment to try to relax.  Little did he know that his failure to remember that small yet significant detail, along with deciding not to notify the commissioner, was going to lead to one of his biggest regrets in the forty-two years of his existence.     


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos! :)

** Chapter 6: **

**Two days later:**

            False Face was pacing in the counselors’ cabin, the afternoon sun gliding on and off his face as he stalked past the windows.  The death of the kid who was _not_ Dick Grayson meant several things: a fatality was unexpected, Mike had begun watching everyone closely at mealtimes, Dick was still alive with his blue eyes continuously on the head chef and it was getting harder to find time to work on his formula.  False Face had gone to the kitchen two nights ago – the day Walter had died – to experiment but Mike had been in there, carefully going through cupboards and drawers.  The villain was relieved that he had thought to pocket the empty bottle of liquid death instead of tossing it in the trash can after pouring the contents on the plate of food.  He realized now that, in addition to trying to find _time_ , he had to find a new _place_ to work on perfecting his drug.

            Creeping quietly away from the kitchen that night, False Face had turned north and traveled into the forest.  His formula needed heat, though, and he couldn’t just start a fire among the trees.  His midnight hike took him a little over three miles away from the camp where, fortuitously, he had discovered a small, long-abandoned shack.  The wooden structure was next to a deceptively deep circular lake and slightly higher up in the mountains.  It was also the perfect place to set up a tiny “kitchen”.  There was a sturdy steel table – about five feet high – a rusted cast-iron pot and a tiny, battery-powered lantern hanging on a hook that was attached to the back wall.  The metal table seemed out of place in the old building but he didn’t care about trying to figure it out.  All he cared about was the fact that he had just found a new place to experiment. 

* * *

**Two nights ago:**

            False Face flipped up the switch on the lantern and was surprised that it still worked.  Not wanting to waste time trying to determine why the battery wasn’t corroded, he grabbed the pot off the floor, disturbing the stroll of a long-legged black spider that was idly making its way across the brown and orange bottom.  Nodding in satisfaction, he decided that it would not be necessary to steal a pot or bowl from the kitchen.  Glancing around, the villain realized that there was nothing useful to remove the rust.  He strode outside and built a small campfire on the dirt halfway between the wooden building and the edge of the lake.  After heating the pot, he attempted to clean it.  It didn’t work very well, the rust refused to be forced out, but at least the dirt and cobwebs were gone.  He put out the fire and returned to the shack, placing the large dish on the table.

             The villain still had the problem of temperature, though.  If he could find something to heat the table it would be easy to boil the formula in the pot.  However, it wouldn’t be smart to build a fire on a wooden floor.  It was a conundrum and he needed a solution as quickly as possible.

            He glanced at his watch – 2:47.  There was no time to do anything else so False Face flicked the switch to turn off the lantern, carefully closed the door that was threatening to fall apart and, using the lake water, washed the grime off his hands.  Turning south, he headed back toward the camp and, to his surprise and delight, discovered a slight trail that led from his hideout straight to the northwest edge of the cafeteria.

* * *

**Present time:**

            False Face had found it, the answer to his problem.  Heating the table was no longer necessary because he had found a long chain in the camp’s toolshed.  Last night he had taken it to the shack, thrown it over the beam at the top of the ceiling and then wrapped it around the handles on both sides of the large pot.  It was now hanging two feet above the sturdy metal table with a small circle of rocks directly under it.  The fire he built within the circle was safe and easy to control, allowing the temperature in the pot to rise quickly.  Smoke wouldn’t be a problem; the crumbling state of the shack made it well-ventilated and everyone would be asleep when he was experimenting.

            The formula was close to perfection.  False Face knew it because last night the food hadn’t exploded.  The dark liquid had bubbled and then faded away.  He needed to test it again but it would have to be someone other than the irritating ward of Bruce Wayne.  The camp roster slid through his mind and he chose Randy – a tall, sturdy kid who was a chatterbox.  False Face was sure everyone in the camp would be _much_ happier if Randy was incapacitated.

* * *

            Batman, between chasing Gotham’s small-time criminals and answering the Bat-signal at least twice a week, was searching everywhere and didn’t have one single clue as to the whereabouts of the master of disguise.  It would have been nice to have Robin’s help with this one; his partner’s facial recognition memory was impressive.  If Batman kept progressing like he had been – which was not at all – then he _would_ have Robin’s help because the Boy Wonder would be back from camp in two weeks and probably more than ready to find and capture a villain.

* * *

            Randy was the one who had eaten the bad food this time but, unlike Walter, it hadn’t killed him.  Seventeen teenagers watched in shock as Randy was helped out of the cafeteria toward the main building, pale and shaking and mumbling about smelly green beans. 

            Dick, however, was watching John’s profile, taking note of every minute change in his facial expression.  The teenager narrowed his eyes as he finally realized that the man was someone he had taken down as Robin.  He was very disappointed in himself.  It had taken him almost four weeks to figure out that the man was a criminal and he didn’t even know which criminal!  Batman wasn’t going to be happy with him, either, and Dick quietly growled at himself in frustration. 

            False Face, standing a few feet from the door leading to the kitchen, did his best to hold back a grin but his mouth twitched twice.  The formula was much closer to perfection.  One, maybe two, more nights of work and then he would test it again.  He peeked at the kids out of the corner of his eye and almost laughed out loud.  Seventeen pairs of wide, distressed teenage eyes were staring at the now-empty cafeteria door.  The villain paused: seventeen?  He took a quick glance at the kids and scowled in his head.  The eighteenth pair belonged to Dick Grayson, who had his eyes on the chef and was watching him like a hawk watches a mouse before swooping down to grab it.  False Face moved toward the kitchen when the kids began sitting down, all of them pushing their plates away.  The only person in the room who wasn’t moving, the villain noticed, was the ever-attentive Grayson who just stood there, staring at him with a slight hint of recognition in his blue eyes.

            “Hey, Dick, are you okay?” Bronte asked when he saw his friend still standing and gazing intently at the door to the kitchen.

            “What?  Oh, sure,” Dick sat down as John disappeared through the swinging door.  He looked around the four tables and saw fear, distress and anxiety.  Thoughts raced through his mind as he watched the other teens whispering to each other – some of them even had tears in their eyes.  Should he call Bruce?  That would mean breaking another rule.  But there was a criminal at the camp, didn’t that qualify as an emergency?  He would have to tell Mike, though, if he didn’t want to break the rule.  However, right now he was Dick Grayson, who knew nothing about criminals.  The director probably wouldn’t believe him because why would a circus-performer-turned-ward-of-a-millionaire be able to recognize a villain?

            False Face walked through the kitchen, ignoring the shock on the faces of several other counselors, and out the door that led to the cabins.  Circling around the back of the cafeteria, he stopped at the beginning of the barely discernible trail just west of the building – the path that led to his shack by the lake.  Tonight was Wednesday, the perfect night to sneak away.  There would be a large campfire and burnt marshmallows and rich teenagers sitting on logs talking about useless things like school and friends.  He would have to be careful when he left, though.  After everything that had happened in the last two days, anybody who saw a shadow moving in the forest would be scared or suspicious.

            The teenagers had gone from sitting in a large square to standing in small groups and whispering gravely to each other when Dick noticed movement, accompanied by a familiar silhouette, in the trees behind the large building.  Why was John sneaking around the back of the cafeteria?  He made an excuse to leave his friends and walked out the front door.  Scanning the camp, the young teenager immediately found the head chef.  The man had stopped by the northwest corner of the cafeteria and was now facing north, staring at something on the ground.  Dick inadvertently stepped on a cluster of leaves, knew that John was going to look for the source of the noise, and quickly turned around and started down the path toward his cabin.  He roughly shoved his right hand through his hair, frustrated with the criminal, himself and the camp in general.  Deciding that he would call Bruce tonight, Dick changed his course and entered the main building to find a phone.  He didn’t want to have to waste time searching for one when he came back tonight.

            False Face heard a small noise behind him and whirled around, only to see Dick Grayson wandering down the path toward his cabin with a hand running through his dark hair.  Why was he the only kid who had exited the cafeteria?  The villain shrugged his shoulders and looked north again.  He would perfect the drug tonight, even if it took _all_ night.

* * *

**Two hours later:**

            False Face watched from the shadows at the northwest corner of the cafeteria as the kids laughed, chatted and began finding seats around the roaring campfire.  Almost everyone was a little more relaxed.  Randy was going to be fine, although it would take a few days for him to get his robust appetite back.

            Dick and Bronte were sitting by Serina, who had also become a close friend, and the three were more somber than everyone else.  It had only been two days since Walter’s death and they all missed him.  Walter had been Bronte’s best friend for over ten years and Serina had known him for almost seven.  Dick had been the target of Walter’s pranks but had refused to react and had quickly won him over.  The two boys had the same sarcastic sense of humor and had been becoming good friends.  Now Walter was gone and the only explanation the kids had received was “severe allergic reaction”.

            Dick noticed a movement out of the corner of his right eye and stood up to stretch.  Turning his head would alert the figure moving quietly in the dark and he didn’t want that to happen.  The silhouette was John, Dick was sure of it, and he had decided to shadow the man before informing Bruce.  Batman would need more information than “there’s a man that I think I recognize as a criminal”.  Dick feigned drowsiness, said goodnight to everyone and strolled down the path to his cabin.  

            Nobody was allowed to go anywhere in the forest without a buddy, especially at night.  The young teenager, however, considered this a special circumstance; an exception to the rule.  Shaking his head ruefully, Dick realized that in only four weeks of his first summer camping experience he had twice broken one rule – leaving his cabin at night – and was about to break two more: entering the forest by himself and using the phone without permission.  

            Glancing back and taking note of where the man had just entered the forest, Dick ran the rest of the way to his cabin and scribbled a quick message to Bronte:

            Feeling cooped up, going for a late-night run.  Dick

            He tossed the paper on top of Bronte’s pillow and took off, racing around the backside of the cafeteria and entering the forest.  Creeping to the place where he had seen John enter the forest, Dick was surprised to see a sort-of trail.  Leaves were quietly crunching in a rhythmic pattern to the north of him and he started following the faint path.  The leaves suddenly stopped crunching and the teenager froze, almost not daring to breathe.  The sound continued a few seconds later, however, and Dick was relieved.  He saw a shadowy figure about twenty yards ahead of him and started zigzagging silently from tree to tree, always keeping the person in his line of sight.

            False Face stopped for a moment and listened carefully.  There was only the gentle sigh of the slightly chilly breeze and the fading roar of the campfire so he continued on toward the lake and his experimental kitchen.  Upon arriving at the shack he glanced around once then, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, opened the door and went in.

            Dick carefully tiptoed around the piles of leaves and pine needles as he moved out of the safety of the shadowy forest.  He was surprised to see the chef go into a small shack by a lake that he hadn’t even known was up here.  Quietly making his way over to the rickety building, the boy slowly lifted his eyes over the lip of the half-broken oval window on the door.  John had made what looked like a rudimentary kitchen and had his back to the door, obviously working on that smelly, steaming concoction again.  The chef was reading the same familiar book that Dick had seen before and muttering to himself as he worked; the teenager caught the words “formula” and “Arkham”.  Was the man working on some kind of drug for somebody in Arkham?  John turned his head to the left and began pulling at his face.  Dick watched in horror and then complete recognition as the face of John began to peel off.  The dim light was flickering around the man’s face but the teenager easily identified the distinct features of the unusual mask of False Face, the master of disguise.  Dick now understood why it had taken him so long to realize that the chef was a criminal.  He needed to contact Batman, _immediately_ , so he turned and raced back toward the camp, not noticing the sound of a quiet splash that lingered in the air when his left foot struck the edge of the lake.

            False Face heard a splashing sound and whipped his head around, listening warily.  Cautiously, he opened the door and peered into the near-darkness.  It didn’t take him long to see a very familiar small figure fading into the trees on the path toward the camp.  Growling, he smoothed out his John mask and carefully reapplied it.  Dick Grayson was going to be in a lot of trouble….


	8. Chapter 8

** Chapter 7: **

            When Dick returned to the campsite the night sky was almost pitch-black, the moon having decided to hide behind a particularly large group of clouds.  Everything was silent except for the soft sound of crickets singing to each other.  He swept the area quickly with his eyes then darted toward the main building, slipping through the door that he had rigged earlier in the day so he could contact Bruce without having to break a window.  He quietly walked to Mike’s office and put his ear to the door.  It was probably unnecessary – the room was completely dark – but he had to be cautious.  Hoping he would be lucky, because picking a lock without his utility belt would be difficult, Dick turned the knob and was both surprised and relieved when the door swung open without a sound.  After glancing back at the front room one last time to make sure he was alone, he walked around Mike’s desk, picked up the phone in the center and dialed a familiar number.  It rang several times and Dick was suddenly worried that nobody was going to answer.

            “Wayne Manor,” Alfred’s voice was professional even at midnight, although it did contain a slight trace of fatigue.

            “Alfred, I need to talk to Bruce, _now_!” Dick whispered quickly, his tone demanding yet slightly fearful.

            “Right away, Master Dick,” Alfred replied, instantly becoming fully awake when he heard the urgency in the young boy’s voice.  He put the phone down and hurried to find Bruce, who was in the Batcave as Batman.  “Master Dick is on the phone for you, sir, and he sounds rather terrified.”

            Batman looked up from the Current Criminal Activity Bat-Disclosure Unit in surprise and then worry.  He snatched up the receiver to the Manor’s phone.  “Dick?” he asked and, hearing nothing, said it again a little louder.

            “Uh, is this Bruce?” came the quiet voice of his young ward.

            Batman didn’t know if anyone was with Dick so he instantly changed his voice into the less commanding tone of Bruce Wayne.

            “Yes, Dick, it’s me.  What’s wrong?  You sound scared.”

            “It’s False Face, Bruce.  He’s here, at the camp, pretending to be a chef.  One of the kids has already died and another is really sick.  What do I do?  I can’t let him kill people one by one, especially not kids!” Dick was speaking as softly and rapidly as possible while still making sure he would be understood.

            “False Face!” Bruce exclaimed.  He recognized from the words that Dick was by himself so he reverted to Batman.  “You absolutely cannot be Robin, do you understand?  You are Dick Grayson and you have to remain Dick Grayson.  Promise me!” Batman’s voice was commanding and, on the other end of the phone, Dick clenched his jaw.

            “But…” Dick started but Batman cut him off.

            “You don’t have a choice, Dick!  Give me your word!” Batman demanded again.

            “Okay, I promise, but I can’t just let him keep hurting people!” Dick was frustrated and was now starting to worry that somebody was going to catch him on the phone at midnight. 

            “We’re taking too long,” the teenager said.  “I’m not supposed to be here.  Just tell me how to help everyone!” he exclaimed quietly.

            “I’m coming up there, Dick, and I will be leaving shortly,” Batman replied.  “Sit tight and I’ll be there as soon as possible, okay?”

            “Send Batman!” the boy gasped, his tone laced with distress.  Dick was no longer alone and was attempting to protect Batman’s identity. 

            There was a long pause, followed by a slight scuffling sound, and Batman became concerned.  “Dick?” he said loudly.

            “Your ward, Bruce Wayne, has broken the rules and will be severely punished,” the voice was threatening as it came through the phone.

            Batman knew that voice; False Face now had Dick and was going to “punish” him.  How much of the conversation had the villain overheard?  More importantly, what was he going to do to Dick?

            “I want to talk to Dick,” Batman declared as he switched back to Bruce Wayne.

            “He has spoken to you long enough,” False Face replied, “and I know that he asked you to send Batman up here.”

            Bruce held back a growl.  So that’s why Dick had squeezed those last two words out so quickly.  He was securing Batman’s identity because False Face had arrived.

            “Dick Grayson will be dead before Batman arrives,” the villain continued, “so you might want to begin planning a funeral instead of a birthday party.” 

            The line was disconnected and Bruce slammed the phone down.  He had been right all along.  Something bad involving a villain was going to happen at that camp and now “weak and timid” Dick, not strong and fearless Robin, was alone with False Face.

* * *

            “Let go of me!” Dick was trying to shout but False Face had a strong hand across his mouth and was wrestling the boy onto the ground.  Dick was strong – he was _Robin_ , after all – and was putting up a good fight.  False Face couldn’t keep the kid quiet _and_ tie him up at the same time so he glanced around the small office for something that would be easy to grab and hard enough to knock the kid out.  There was a baseball bat leaning against the back wall.  It was cliché but it would get the job done so he grabbed it with his left hand and swung it down toward Dick’s forehead.  Dick saw it coming and managed to get his left arm between his head and the bat before they could connect.  The previously injured shoulder protested the hit but Dick was able to shove the villain away and stand up, remembering that he could defend himself as long as he didn’t fight too well.  False Face had fallen to the floor but was quick to get back on his feet, snatching up the bat he had dropped during the struggle and strategically placing himself between the desk and the office door. 

            Now Dick was trapped behind the desk but an idea was forming in his mind.  There was a closed window on his left that was several inches above his head and just the right size for his small body.  If he could plant his right foot on the edge of the desk he would be able to dive through the glass, as long as he pushed off hard enough and calculated the angle correctly.  Crashing through the window would do two important and helpful things: the shattering sound would be loud enough to wake _somebody_ up and Dick would have the advantage of a head start to the counselors’ cabin.  False Face would have to run through the main building in order to get out and, by the time he did, Dick would already be pounding on the door that would give him access to safety.  He would have to dive through the dusty square of glass as fast as possible – the length of the bat the villain was holding wouldn’t allow him much time to escape before giving him a probable knock-out hit.  The thought to shout for help crossed his mind but that idea was quickly shut down with six words:

            “If you yell, I’ll kill everyone,” False Face whispered dangerously.

            Dick straightened up and folded his arms across his chest, ignoring the slight ache in his left shoulder and attempting to appear intimidating and unafraid.  “Batman is coming, he’s on his way right now, so killing everyone is not in your best interest,” he declared softly.

            False Face laughed quietly, “Batman won’t come up here to save a bunch of rich brats; he doesn’t care about you!  I’m sure there are many other, more dangerous criminals that he would rather capture.  A non-violent man who merely enjoys disguising himself and is helping out at a camp is, I’m sure, rather low on his list of ‘important people to catch today’.”

            “Bruce said he would come…” Dick trailed off when False Face laughed again.

            “Bruce said he would come,” the villain mimicked the young teenager’s voice almost perfectly.  “Bruce Wayne is more interested in himself than you, circus brat.  Who was it…oh, yes, _Walter_ once said that you were only here because the millionaire wanted some good publicity a couple of years ago.”

            Dick’s eyes became dark with fury, “Bruce _will_ send Batman up here and you leave Walter out of this!  You _killed_ him, I know you did!”  Dick was shouting in a whisper; he was afraid that False Face would make good on his threat to kill everyone.

            “No, Dick Grayson, _you_ killed him,” False Face replied with a snarl.  “You were always watching me, always trying to figure me out.  I was going to wait until the end to test you but you were becoming annoying.  _You_ allowed him to take a bite of your food, not me.”

            Dick’s blue eyes widened slightly when he heard that.  It was true; he had allowed Walter to eat the spoonful of gravy.  The only thing he had done was shout at him to stop.  He should have knocked the spoon away or done… _something_.  Those thoughts were pushed away as he attempted to focus solely on the situation at hand.

            “Test me?” he asked with anger clearly evident in his quiet tone.  “Test me how?”

            False Face sneered as he watched Dick glance quickly toward the small window.  “You and all the other bratty kids at this camp were supposed to be my lab rats.  Scarecrow gave me a formula and I’ve been perfecting it.  The version Randy received was better than the one you had – oops, I mean the one _Walter_ had – and I would have figured it out tonight if you hadn’t interrupted me!”

            Dick was shocked; they were test subjects for one of _Scarecrow’s_ toxins?!  He narrowed his eyes, “What kind of substance are you trying to perfect?”

            The villain rolled his eyes, “So many questions!  If you must know, it’s a mind control drug and I’m going to use these little rich kids to get whatever I want from the safes in their rich parents’ houses.  It’s quite a simple plan and the Caped Crusaders were not supposed to find out any of it.”  False Face abruptly changed the subject.  “Do you want to know why I’m answering your questions?”

            Dick was sure he knew the answer so he ignored the question.  If he could keep False Face focused on talking, he might be able to execute his plan before the man realized what was happening.  He carefully moved his left foot toward the desk and shifted his weight, freeing up his right leg.

            “Because you aren’t going to be around to tell anybody about this conversation,” the villain continued as if Dick had replied.  He saw Dick take a subtle step with his left foot and decided that he was finished with the game.  Looking at the ground thoughtfully, he waited for the kid to decide to take a risk and go for the window. 

            False Face was threatening him but the man’s voice was only background noise now as Dick focused his brain on escaping.  Suddenly the villain was staring at the floor and the teen was surprised.  Deciding not to take the time to figure out why the man had given him such an obvious opportunity, the thirteen-year-old lifted his right leg, planted his right foot on the corner of the desk and dove toward the window.

            False Face grinned and swung the bat as the boy took the bait.  The window was not far away from the desk and the villain had just enough time to slam the bat into the back of the kid’s head before he could crash through the glass.  The hit sent the top of Dick’s head into the wall and he immediately dropped to the floor, his limp body revealing that he was now completely unconscious.  A thin line of blood slid down the back of his neck and a small pool formed under his head.  The wounds were superficial, though, and the bleeding stopped shortly after it had begun. 

            False Face checked his watch – 12:45.  The drive to the camp, from the transportation depot where the kids had been picked up, was six hours in a normal car.  Gotham City was two hours west of that location so the villain figured he had about six and a half or seven hours before the Batmobile would arrive.  He picked up the young teenager’s seemingly lifeless form, flipped it over his right shoulder, grabbed the bat in case he needed it later and silently exited Mike’s office.  Arriving at the front door of the main building, False Face peered through the darkness, carefully searching for any type of movement.  Everything was silent and still so the villain quickly strode north and disappeared into the trees.  The boy would be out for a while so he had some time to work on the drug.  Then, when the annoying brat woke up, False Face would have another chance to test it on the kid who was supposed to be in Walter’s current situation – dead. 


	9. Chapter 9

** Chapter 8: **

            The drug still needed heat so False Face placed Dick on the floor in a corner of the shack.  He built a fire in his circle of rocks, warmed up the pot and began to work.  Twenty minutes later he put out the fire and let everything cool down.  Seven minutes after that he had the rocks off the table, the pot on the floor and the boy tied tightly on top of the table.  He removed a small, glass vial out of his pocket and filled it almost to the top with his dark liquid.  Then he waited, pacing around the table, watching the formula as he swirled it around and glancing impatiently at the boy every few minutes.  

* * *

**Twelve minutes later:**

            It was still dark when Dick woke up with a headache, one that felt like a baseball was being repeatedly tossed against his brain.  He was lying on his back, staring up at a small, crumbling ceiling and hearing the quiet lapping of calm water against solid land.  Carefully turning his head over his left shoulder, he recognized the half-broken window of the tiny shack.  The crescent moon was reflecting off the shiny surface of the lake and he could see several tiny dots of firefly lights dancing around the water.   There was cold metal underneath his body and he realized that he was restrained tightly on top of the only sturdy thing in the rickety old building – the table that False Face had been using as a countertop when he was working on his formula.  A soft mumble came from his right and he turned his head to find the source of the sound.  False Face, his John mask removed, was facing Dick with his head down.  A small ray of moonlight lit up his dark hair but his face was swathed in shadows.  He was swirling a black liquid around in a glass vial and muttering something about an antidote.

            False Face heard a quiet noise and lifted his head.  Dick Grayson was finally awake, staring at him and doing his best to look angry – which is difficult when one is immobile and at the mercy of a villain.  The boy looked more nervous than anything but False Face was impressed with his ability to remain semi-calm.  The villain flipped up the switch on the lantern, the sudden change in light causing the kid to squeeze his eyes shut.  False Face gave Dick some time to adjust; he wanted the boy to be able to see everything that was happening.

            “I’ve been working on this while you have been resting,” False Face held up the glass container, “and I don’t know if it’s perfect yet.  So, I need a test subject and, since you’re already here, it might as well be you.”  The villain grinned when Dick’s eyes widened slightly.  The boy obviously remembered the consequences of the last two times the drug had been tested.  “This will give me the ability to control your mind,” False Face continued.  “I haven’t even begun to try to figure out an antidote yet so, unfortunately for you, there is none.”     

            Dick frowned and narrowed his eyes.  “I’m not afraid of you or that liquid because Batman will be here soon and he will find you,” he declared then quickly amended the sentence, “he will find _us_.”  He tried to sound brave but knowing that he wouldn’t be receiving an antidote was un-nerving.

            False Face grinned through his usual mask, “You don’t sound very certain, Grayson.”

            Dick almost growled but remembered that he wasn’t Robin and the ward of Bruce Wayne probably wouldn’t be growling at a villain.  So he growled in his head instead, wishing Bruce had allowed him to bring his extra Robin-suit.  The Boy Wonder wouldn’t be in this predicament because he would have been able to fight his way out of Mike’s office.  Dick, however, was not allowed to fight well enough to escape the situation so now here he was, tied to a table and about to be drugged.

            False Face stepped forward and loomed over Dick’s small body, the dark vial already slightly tipped over the boy’s mouth.  “Open wide, kid, so that I don’t have to hurt you to get this down your throat,” he stated calmly.  He didn’t like physical violence but he had to test the drug.  The formula would go into the young teen’s mouth by whatever means necessary.  If he had to use force, so be it.

            Firmly pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw, Dick shook his throbbing head.  There was no way he was going to willingly let an unknown substance enter his body.

            The villain sighed in disappointment and used his left thumb and forefinger to pinch Dick’s nose.  Dick couldn’t breathe but still refused to open his mouth.  He started to struggle after a few seconds, turning his head from side to side, but False Face held on tightly and Dick was forced to open his mouth to bring oxygen into his body.  His gulp of air was quick, though, and he did it when his head was turned away from the villain’s right hand, causing False Face to miss the opportunity to pour the liquid into the boy’s mouth.

            “That was a good idea, Grayson, but I have other ways to get this into your body,” False Face sneered as he released the boy’s nose and grabbed his chin.  Dick immediately inhaled oxygen through his nose and was surprised when it wasn’t cut off again.  A touch of fear snaked around the edges of his eyes when False Face began to tightly squeeze his jaw.  Dick squirmed in pain but now his head was immobile and the villain was slowly able to pull his lower jaw away from his upper one. 

            Dick started to choke on the dark, bubbly fluid that slid quickly down his throat as False Face shoved his mouth closed and removed his hand.  The liquid burned on the way down and, ten seconds later, what felt like sharp little needles were pricking all the nerves in his body.  The pain slowly increased until it felt like the needles were slicing through his skin.  He was shaking and sweating and trying to hold back a cry of agony when the feeling suddenly stopped.  Gradually the trembling decreased and Dick realized that he didn’t feel any differences between now and the time before he had been drugged, other than the lingering stings of the imaginary needles.  He grinned – the villain’s formula hadn’t worked.

            “Tell me that you hate Bruce Wayne,” False Face demanded, carefully scrutinizing every detail on the boy’s face.

            Dick’s grin became wider and he opened his mouth to give the villain a sarcastic reply.  The words in his mind were different from the words that came out of his mouth, however.  His eyes widened in shock when he heard himself say, “I hate Bruce Wayne.”

            The eyes of False Face widened, also, but his expression was one of glee.  “I did it!” he yelled.  “I finally got it right!”  He ran around the table and out the door, performing a bizarre-looking dance of triumph before re-entering the shack.  Staring smugly at the boy who had been troubling him, False Face stated, “You are going to call Bruce Wayne and tell him that Batman is no longer needed up here.  Do you understand?” he demanded.

            “Batman doesn’t need to come up here; everything is fine,” Dick’s voice sounded somewhat robotic and False Face frowned.  The phone call wouldn’t be believable if the kid didn’t sound like himself.

            _Stop, what are you doing?!_   Dick yelled at himself in his head as he cleared his throat and repeated the sentence. 

            False Face grinned again.  Now the boy sounded normal and that would encourage Bruce Wayne to call off Batman.  Quickly bending down, he picked up a portable phone that was leaning against a leg of the table, pleased that he had remembered to grab it from Mike’s office after knocking the kid out.

            “You are going to speak to Bruce Wayne and tell him that Batman is no longer needed here, that everything is fine.  Do you understand?”  At Dick’s compliant nod, False Face held up the phone.  “Tell me the number,” the villain commanded and Dick obeyed.  After punching in the numbers, False Face held the phone at the boy’s right ear and waited impatiently for someone to answer.

            “Wayne Manor,” Alfred answered, surprised that someone would be calling _Bruce_ at almost two o’clock in the morning.

            “Bruce Wayne, please,” Dick said and False Face was a little annoyed.  The _ward_ of Bruce Wayne wouldn’t ask to speak to his guardian like that.

            “Master Dick?” Alfred asked.  “You don’t sound like yourself, are you okay?”

            “Yes, Alfred, I’m fine.  May I please speak to Bruce?”

            “Of course, young sir, I’ll only be a moment.”  Alfred, who had returned to the Manor to retrieve some information for Batman, hurried to the service elevator and descended to the Batcave.

            The boy was beginning to sound robotic again and False Face was suddenly worried.  If Wayne suspected something was wrong then he wouldn’t tell Batman to forget about going up to the camp.

            “Clear your throat,” he whispered frantically, remembering what Dick had done before.  The teenager just stared at him, though, so the villain moved the phone away and squeezed the boy’s throat once.  Dick coughed then wheezed slightly and False Face returned the phone to the teenager’s ear, hoping the action had worked.

            “Master Ba…Bruce, it’s Master Dick and he sounds...I don’t really know how to describe it, sir,” Alfred’s eyes were concerned as he rounded the corner of the tunnel leading from the elevator to the Batcave.  Batman had just finished skimming the contents on the dossier of False Face in the Well Known Criminals files and was preparing to leave – he just needed the information that Alfred had gone to obtain.  The butler’s words, however, stopped Batman in his tracks and he grabbed the extension to the Manor.

            “Dick?” he said.  There was no answer and Batman wondered if this was another threat from False Face.  He tipped the phone down so it was away from his mouth and quietly asked Alfred if he was sure it was his ward.  At his butler’s confirming nod, Batman brought the phone back up, “Dick, are you there?”

            _Don’t say it, don’t say it, stop forming those words!_   Dick was continuing to yell at himself in his head even as he heard the sentence come out of his mouth.

            “Hi, Bruce.  Everything is fine now and we don’t need…um…we don’t need Batman anymore,” Dick struggled to change the words but was losing the fight against the drug.

            Batman narrowed his eyes, detecting a tiny sliver of distress in his ward’s otherwise normal voice.  “Dick, what do you mean?  Earlier you said…”

            “I know what I said earlier,” Dick interrupted harshly, “but I was wrong.  Please don’t…” there was a long pause and Batman’s eyes widened at the rude tone.  The young teen had never sounded like this before; neither Bruce nor Batman had ever heard the boy so abrasive.

            “Please don’t what, Dick?” Batman demanded an answer.

            “Don’t…uh,” Dick gasped as he continued to resist the drug that was now slowly decreasing its influence on his brain, “don’t need Bat, um, Batman.  Everything is fine he…he,” Dick’s mouth was working to form the word “here” but his brain was yelling “help”.

            “Dick, what’s going on?” Batman was really alarmed now.  His ward sounded like he was gasping for air and his voice was trembling noticeably.

            The fight was taking a lot out of him and Dick was straining to stay awake.  “At camp,” he gasped again.  “We don’t need _help_ ,” he struggled to emphasize the last word then closed his eyes and slipped into darkness.

            Batman heard the ‘click’ of a phone being turned off.  “Something’s really wrong with him, Alfred.  He would never interrupt me like that...” he trailed off as Alfred nodded his head.          

            “I’m afraid you are right, sir.  There was a strange tone to his voice…” it was Alfred’s turn to trail off as Batman sprinted to the Batmobile and uncharacteristically jumped over the driver’s side door.

            Batman was furious with himself as the engine roared to life and he left the Batcave.  Dick was in danger and Bruce Wayne was the one that had put his ward in this situation. 

            False Face pulled the phone away and turned it off.  The conversation hadn’t gone how he had envisioned it and he was sure that Bruce Wayne would tell Batman that something was really wrong.  There had been too many pauses, too much gasping and the ward of Bruce Wayne probably wouldn’t interrupt his guardian as harshly as Dick had done.  False Face frowned, opened the door and threw the phone as far as he could into the lake before turning back to glare at the now-unconscious boy.

* * *

**Several hours later:**

            Bronte was worried as he raced toward the office of the camp director with Dick’s note crumpled in his hand.  A “late-night run” meant that his friend would be back before morning, not that his bed wouldn’t be slept in and he would be missing.

            “Mike!” Bronte yelled as he burst into the main building.  He slammed to a stop before he could crash into the director, who was about to walk out the front door.

            “Whoa, Bronte, calm down, what’s going on?” Mike asked gently, instinctively bringing his hands up to prevent the collision.  Bronte was having a hard time coping with Walter’s death and the director was surprised that Dick Grayson wasn’t with him.

            Bronte was trying to catch his breath after sprinting from his cabin to the main building so he just handed the note to Mike, who read it and became concerned.

            “Bronte, where is Dick?”

            “He never…he never came back!” Bronte shouted, fear for his friend plainly evident on his face.  “I haven’t seen him since he left the campfire last night and I found that,” he pointed to the note in Mike’s hand, “on my pillow before I went to bed!”

            “Go to breakfast, Bronte, I’ll take care of this.  We’ll find him, there’s nothing to worry about.  The forest can be like a maze at night and I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”  Mike was trying a little too hard to reassure the boy and could tell from Bronte’s dubious expression that he wasn’t buying it.

            “I want to help look,” Bronte declared.  “We can all help.  Walter just _died_ two days ago, Randy is really sick and now Dick is missing.  Please let us help!  You can put us in groups with adults in each group.  _Please_ , Mike,” Bronte was practically begging the man.

            Mike looked at the grief gliding through the eyes of the fourteen-year-old and made a decision, another one he would later regret.

            “Okay, but breakfast first.  If you’re going to hike through the forest, you’re going to need fuel.  Tell all the kids to be in the cafeteria in half an hour.”

            Bronte nodded and ran out the door.  Mike thought for a moment and then called Donovan, who was by the fireplace watching the exchange, over to him.

_That man is always in the right place at the right time._   The thought flashed through Mike’s mind and was dismissed as quickly as it had appeared.

            “I need you to find all the adults, immediately.  We have a serious situation and I need everyone’s help.”

            “A serious situation?” Donovan sounded concerned but there was an undetected hint of nervousness.  “What’s going on?”

            “Can you just follow my instructions and get everybody here?  We don’t have time to discuss this one by one!” the clearly stressed director yelled at the man.  Donovan quickly left the building as Mike strode into his office and around his desk, plopping onto his chair upon arrival.  This situation felt all too familiar – sitting in his old chair and rubbing his head, which was aching as bad as it had been on the day Walter had died.  He rolled his neck, attempting to release some of the tension, and noticed a dark splotch on the floor.  Pushing his chair back and crouching down, he touched the abnormal spot then lifted his finger to his nose and took a sniff.  Mike had been a police officer and camp director long enough to recognize this particular smell, even though it was completely dry: blood.  His eyes widened and he quickly stood up, turning in a slow circle in order to carefully peruse his surroundings.  Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary until he noticed a patch of dust-free floor.  That’s where his bat had been.  His eyes landed on the shelf directly above the circular shape.  The portable phone was no longer there.  He ran both hands through his white hair – Dick Grayson was not just missing, he had been kidnapped and it had happened in Mike’s own office.

            Ten minutes later the counselors were standing in the main building, listening as the camp director explained the unfortunate circumstances.  Mike left out the kidnapping part, since it was mostly a theory, but expressed the seriousness of the situation.  Everyone started talking and asking questions all at once.

            Mike held up both hands, indicating for silence.  “We’re going to put the kids in groups with at least two adults in each group.”  He pulled out a map of the campsite and the surrounding forest, placing it on the tall table near his office door.  “I’m separating the forest into quadrants and we’ll also have a group searching the camp itself,” he said and began drawing on the map. 

            Nobody noticed that there were only eight attentive adults.  The eyes of the ninth were darting nervously around the room, searching for the tenth, who was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

            The next time Dick woke up, the sun was high in the eastern sky and the little needles were pricking his nerves again.  The pain was minor, however, so he didn’t dwell on it.  The only thing he remembered was telling Bruce that Batman wasn’t needed anymore.  He began searching his brain, looking for any clues as to why he would say that, especially since there was a picture of False Face floating behind his eyes.  Memories suddenly rushed back and he started squirming around, attempting to free himself from the rope that was tightly wrapped several times around his small body. 

            Dick frowned as he remembered the battle in his head that had eventually led him to darkness.  False Face had been able to control Dick’s mind for a short amount of time but maybe Bruce hadn’t believed him.  Maybe Batman had heard the strain in his ward’s voice and was still coming for them.  The drug seemed to have worn off and, looking around as best he could, the teen didn’t see the villain anywhere.  He began to rock his body from side to side and hoped that somehow he could gather enough momentum to release himself from his bonds.  How rocking the table would help him escape he had no idea but it was better to try than just lay there and wait for False Face to come back and finish him off. 

* * *

            Twenty minutes after Mike had talked to the counselors, the kids and adults were in the cafeteria being placed in groups and given assignments.  False Face, wearing his John mask again, had unobtrusively returned from the shack by the lake and was in a group with Bronte, Serina and Donovan.  They had been given the northern portion of the camp boundary and False Face was nervous; the lake marked the border.  He made a decision, slipped quietly into the kitchen and snatched a knife off a counter.  The groups were ready to leave when False Face grabbed Serina, whirled her around into a choke hold and pointed the knife at her neck.

            “Everybody stop!” he yelled and everyone froze.  Shock and fear were written all over their faces and Serina was crying.

            “John!” Mike exclaimed.  “What are you doing?!  Let her go!”

            John snarled at Mike and, to the director’s astonishment, Donovan stepped up next to the head chef in silent support of his actions.  John whispered something to the man, who immediately left the cafeteria while the villain commanded everyone to clump into a group.  While the others began obeying the instructions, Bronte began inching toward the front door.  John noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye.

            “Bronte,” he warned loudly, “back here now or she dies!”  He pushed the knife against the girl’s neck, causing a small drop of red to appear.

            Serina gasped in fear and Bronte raced to the cluster of people.  By the time he got there, Donovan had come back carrying a two liter bottle filled with a gas-like substance.  John nodded at the other man, who then walked over to the group.

            “Donovan!” Mike shouted.  “What are you…why?  You’ve been here six years!”

            Donovan looked remorseful as he stated, “I’m sorry, Mike, but what I get paid here doesn’t help my family right now.  This man,” he flicked his head back at John, “is going to give me a lump sum of money that will get my kids and I out of a tough situation.”

            False Face had come up behind Donovan and shoved Serina at Mike, who grabbed her tightly.  Snatching the bottle from the other counselor, the villain shoved him into the group, also, and stabbed the side of the container.  Gas began to glide out of the slit and False Face tossed the bottle into the group.  He grinned as seventeen kids began falling to the ground, victims of another of Scarecrow’s toxins, this one a fast-acting sleeping drug.  The adults were lasting longer so False Face left them with a parting comment.

            “If anyone comes after me, little Dick Grayson will meet an untimely death and it will be _your_ fault.  I suggest you make a good choice,” the villain sneered but many of them had already succumbed before he finished the sentence.  He laughed delightedly and turned to leave, performing his signature heel click in the air right before walking out the door.

* * *

            Somehow Dick had wiggled and squirmed enough to tip the table onto its side and was now lying on the floor, still tied to the table and attempting to breathe through the pain of landing solely on his left side.  He was pretty sure that his left shoulder was dislocated again and trying to think about anything except the pulsing ache was proving to be extremely difficult.  The room was going in and out of focus and rainbows were dancing around in front of him.  The door to the shack was flung open but Dick didn’t even hear the loud noise.  He was struggling to concentrate on finding a way to escape and his brain couldn’t register anything else at the moment.

            False Face strode angrily into the shack and laughed when he saw Dick’s situation.  “Isn’t that the same shoulder you hurt before?” he asked, crouching in front of the boy as he began to peel away the face of John.  “I bet it _really_ hurts now.  Did you actually think you could get away?”  That question was accompanied by a swift kick to Dick’s left arm as False Face stood back up. 

            Flinching at the spike of severe discomfort, Dick grunted, “Well, I wasn’t going to just lay here and let you get away with this.”  He suddenly remembered that he wasn’t Robin and shut his mouth.  The additional pain from the kick had subsided slightly and Dick tried to focus on the voice of the villain. 

            “It looks to me like you don’t really have a choice,” False Face sneered as he finished removing his disguise.  They both heard a loud noise coming from the direction of the camp and the villain turned around, slowly opening the door.  Dick attempted to grin; he recognized the sound of the Batmobile.  False Face, however, frowned – he had heard that engine too many times in his criminal career. 

            “Now that Batman is here,” the villain sneered, “he’ll be coming after _me_.  Like I said before, he doesn’t care about saving a bunch of bratty rich kids.  Even if he does look for you,” False Face declared, “he won’t be able to find you.  By the time he discovers this place, you will be in a watery grave.”

            Dick tried to glare at the villain, a touch of fear outlining the edges of his agony-laced eyes.  Batman was smart – he would find Dick and everything would be fine.  Unexpectedly, the pain in his throbbing joint flared up again, causing him to gasp as the rainbows turned into holes of darkness.  False Face disappeared from Dick’s line of vision and the teen couldn’t push back the darkness anymore.  The villain had the bat in his hand again but realized he didn’t have to use it when the small body of the boy stopped moving.  He did it anyway, slapping the bat on the back of Dick’s head and re-opening the wound the kid had received in Mike’s office.

* * *

**Fifteen minutes later:**

            Dick was cold and his shivering woke him up.  False Face was right in front of him, although for some reason the man was upside down, and staring at him with a slight smile.  The teen’s legs, all the way up to his waist, were resting in the nearly freezing water of the mountain lake.  His wrists were tied to something above him, his straight arms the only things supporting his weight.  There was some kind of dirty rag in his mouth and wrapped tightly around his aching head.  That pain didn’t even compare to the one in his extended shoulders: the joints were bobbing in time to the tiny waves and every movement was like a hammer pounding against his bones.  The left one felt like it was about to fall off his body and Dick briefly speculated that he would be grateful if it did.

            “Let me explain your situation to you,” False Face began speaking and Dick stared blankly at him, attempting to make sense of the man’s words.  “First, you are under the dock on the lake, tied to the pole that is closest to land, making it the darkest one out of all of them.  Don’t worry, the bottom of the lake is about ten feet down so you still have plenty of space to drown.  Second, your legs – which I’m sure you can tell are wrapped around the pole – are tied together and a large rock is chained around your left ankle.  Third, as you obviously know, you are gagged and cannot call for help.  Finally,” and False Face took out a knife, “I’m about to free your hands from the plank to which they are secured.  When that happens, you can either fall to your death or try to wrap your arms around the pole.  If you do the latter, the only thing keeping you from slipping under the water will be the strength of your small arms.  I don’t think you’ll last long with that dislocated shoulder, though.  You can remove the gag if you want but you probably won’t be able to hold yourself, and the rock, up with one arm while you do that.”

            Dick understood enough of the speech to know what was about to happen and he shook his head rapidly, alarm in his eyes.

            “Okay, because I’m nice I’ll put you all the way at the top,” False Face said as he grinned and wrapped his hands around Dick’s arms.  He pulled the teen’s small body up until his elbows were bent and his head hit the dock. 

            The water was only at the boy’s knees now but the villain had intentionally pulled the left arm more forcefully than the right.  Stars burst behind Dick’s eyes and he wanted to allow the darkness that was prowling around the edges of his mind to swallow him whole.  False Face suddenly grabbed the short piece of rope that was holding the young teenager’s wrists together and sliced it apart.  Dick immediately slipped down but managed to wrap his arms firmly around the pole after going only a few inches – the water was at his thighs.  He wouldn’t be able to hang on long, he realized, because his entire left arm was now on fire and his body was trembling from the pain, the fear and the icy water.  He felt himself beginning to panic and squeezed his eyes shut, picturing Batman sprinting toward the lake.  The image allowed him to push the feeling away, albeit slightly.

            “You should have kept your mouth shut,” False Face sneered.  “Goodbye, Dick Grayson,” and then he was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who gave me kudos!

** Chapter 9: **

**Fifteen minutes earlier:**

            Batman stopped the Batmobile at the top of the circular driveway, much like the teenager-laden bus had done a little over four weeks ago.  He quickly opened his door and exited the vehicle, his first objective to find Mike and get a full report.  There had to be some kind of important information that he would receive from one of the adults or kids.  However, upon cresting the hill that led to the camp itself, he realized that nobody was around.  He ran into the front building, glancing around the entire room on his way to the small office that obviously belonged to the director.  There was nobody in the office or the building so he rushed back through the open door and headed to the closest structure – it looked like a cafeteria.  Flinging open the door nearest to him, Batman swiftly passed through the kitchen and into the eating area.

            The hero stopped in shock: everyone in the room was unconscious on the floor.  He strode quickly over to the clump of people and immediately spotted the open two-liter bottle, the inside of which was tainted orange.  One sniff told Batman all he needed to know because he and Robin had been victims of Scarecrow’s drugs more than once.  This one was merely a sleeping gas and everyone would be fine. 

            Batman crouched down next to Mike and roughly shook the man’s shoulders while yelling at him to wake up.  The camp director sleepily obeyed and Batman helped him sit up.

            “Where is False Face?” the hero asked angrily and Mike looked confused.

            “I…I don’t know who False Face is but our chef, John, threatened one of our kids with a knife and then did this,” Mike swept a shaking arm around the cluster of teenagers and adults.

            Batman growled quietly.  “Where did he go?” he demanded.

            Mike shook his head and shrugged his shoulders – he had been asleep before the man had exited the building.  Glancing down, the director noticed that Donovan was asleep right next to him and he scowled.  The man might know something and Mike suddenly pulled back a fist and punched him in the face.  Donovan yelped groggily and immediately sat up, his arms automatically crossing over his head in defense.  Mike started to punch the counselor again but his fist hit the palm of Batman’s gloved hand instead.

            “He was working with John, he must know _something_ ,” the director stated furiously.

            Batman stood up and grabbed Donovan’s arms, hauling the man to his feet and glaring at him.  “Tell me where John went,” he commanded, his voice deadly quiet.

            Donovan, a bruise already forming on the left side of his face, was trembling in the strong grasp and finding it difficult to speak.  But the chef had betrayed him, and the memory of being shoved into the group that had been drugged leapt to the forefront of his mind.

            “There’s an abandoned shack in the forest, somewhere near here.  I don’t know exactly where it is but I do know that John discovered it a few nights ago.  He has gone there twice since then, as far as I know.”  The counselor’s voice was nervous but there was a strong vein of anger laced into the tone.

            Batman tossed Donovan to the ground, looked down at Mike and stressed that nobody was to leave the building until he came back with the villain restrained and ready for the police.  He didn’t even glance at the rest of the group; False Face was his focus.  It didn’t occur to him to ask Mike if everyone was present. 

            Stopping just outside the front door, Batman scanned the trees.  The forest was dense and it would take a lot of time to search the entire thing.  He noticed a shadow moving silently near the northern tree line and he quietly slipped around the southwest corner of the cafeteria, where he could see but not be seen.

* * *

**Present time:**

            False Face returned to the shack after leaving Dick in the water.  The empty vial was on the table that he had righted before dragging the boy to the lake.  He threw it on the ground angrily, watching it shatter.  The drug hadn’t been strong enough to withstand the mind of a thirteen-year-old kid for more than ten minutes!  He crouched down and snatched Scarecrow’s “recipe” book off the floor.  Straightening up again, he grabbed what was left of the long rope off the table and stalked out the door.     

            Leaving the kid to drown in the lake was a good idea, False Face decided as he zigzagged through the trees, heading south toward the camp.  It ensured that Bruce Wayne would regret sending Batman up into the mountains to save his little ward and all the other bratty rich kids.  The villain sighed as he mentally watched money drifting away like smoke in a breeze.  He didn’t have any more time to perfect his drug and use it on these kids.  They, and the adults, would have to be taken care of before he could make his escape.    

* * *

            The shadow emerged from the trees, softly but quickly heading toward the front door of the cafeteria and carrying something long and brown.  Batman recognized the villain’s normal mask immediately and waited for him to approach the building.  A fleeting thought of irritation sliced through his mind: Dick had an excellent facial recognition memory.  Why hadn’t the boy figured this out four weeks ago?  A glint of silver caught Batman’s eye and he watched False Face pull a knife out of his back pocket.  The hero instantly flew around the corner of the building and tackled the man, ignoring the small prick of pain when the knife brushed against the underside of his left arm.  Both the knife and a long rope fell to the ground as False Face was quickly knocked out.

            Everyone in the cafeteria was now awake and could hear the commotion coming from outside.  The kids began running toward the windows to see what was happening.  Mike and Donovan raced to block the front entrance while the seven other adults attempted to corral the teens back toward the middle of the room.  The kids, however, had other ideas and suddenly the largest window was broken and seventeen bodies were all trying to get out at the same time.

            Batman heard the crash as he was crouching on the ground securing False Face.  He whipped his head around in surprise and, when he saw what was happening, frustration.  What didn’t Mike and the other man understand about his instructions to “keep everyone inside until the villain was secure”?  He frowned and quickly finished tightening the Bat-cuffs on the man’s wrists then stood up to a cacophony of young voices.

            “That was so cool!  Do you have any more Bat-cuffs?  Where is Robin?  Did you come in the Batmobile?  Can I see it?  Who is this guy?  Robin’s soooo dreamy!” 

            The last comment came from a group of three giggling girls who had circled around behind Batman to see if the Boy Wonder was there.  He heard their sighs of disappointment and nearly rolled his eyes.  Shaking his head, he held up his hands for silence, annoyed with the constant noise now encircling him.  The kids kept tossing loud questions at him, though, and he was relieved when Mike finally blew the whistle and the teens stopped talking.

            Mike walked quickly through the cluster of kids, stopping next to Batman.  “What do you want me to do?” he whispered.

            “Head count,” Batman replied, upset that he hadn’t thought to do that earlier.  False Face had threatened to punish Dick and Batman had allowed that fact to slip to the back of his mind in order to concentrate on finding the villain.  He carefully sifted through the faces of the teens but saw no sign of his ward’s distinctive blue eyes.

            “Roll call,” Mike yelled and everybody lined up.  He quickly went through the list and Batman heard seventeen “here” responses when there should have been twenty.

            Growling, he turned back to the bleary-eyed villain and pulled him up to standing.  “There are three kids missing, False Face,” Batman had memorized the roster and knew exactly who they were, “Randy Shuftler, Walter Jackson and Dick Grayson.  Where are they?” he demanded, his rising tone threatening and laced with a tinge of concern.

            False Face glared at the circle of kids and then at the ground, refusing to give Batman any information.

            “Randy is sick, Walter is d…dead,” Bronte volunteered softly, “and Dick is missing.”

            “What did you do with Dick Grayson?!” Batman shouted, two inches away from the idiotic-looking mask of the villain with his hands clenched into fists on the man’s shirt.  False Face remained silent and Batman threw him back to the ground.  He was furious but then he saw the faces of seventeen scared young teenagers and tried to calm his emotions.  It was nearly impossible; Dick was missing and he had no idea where his ward could be.

            Batman snatched the rope off of the ground and grabbed the back of the villain’s shirt, manhandling him to the nearest flagpole.  Quickly shoving the villain into a sitting position, he tightly wrapped the entire length of the rope around both the man’s body and the flagpole.  He looked at the two biggest counselors and instructed them to keep a strict eye on the prisoner then glanced at the kids again.

            “Take them into the cafeteria and keep them there this time!” he whispered angrily to Mike, who nodded and began calling to the teens and directing them inside.  The rest of the counselors took the hint and started assisting the director. 

            “Keep that man with you, too,” Batman glared at Donovan.  “Do not let him out of your sight.  Understand?”  Satisfied with Mike’s nod of agreement, Batman strode toward the forest in search of his ward.

* * *

            Dick’s left arm was still on fire, his vision was going from blurry to non-existent to blurry again, his muscles were wearing out and his hands were slippery with blood.  The wood from the pole was shredding his skin and shoving splinters deep into his fingers.  The water was at his shoulders and Dick knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his head above the surface for much longer. 

            Tears filled his eyes as he began to accept that this was really the end, that he would never see Bruce or Batman or Alfred again.  He realized that all of this was his fault: he should have called Batman sooner, he should have been more aware of his surroundings when he was on the phone, he should have fought back…but he wasn’t Robin.  Bruce would have been disappointed if Dick had resisted like Robin would have, but now both Dick and Robin were going to die.

            An idea suddenly popped into Dick’s mind and his eyes widened with hope.  The gag was tight but the wood on the pole was sharp and maybe his idea would work.  He didn’t have much time, though, so he turned his head to the right and started to rub the cloth vigorously against the wood.  He felt skin being sanded off his left cheek but he was also already able to move his mouth a little bit. 

            Dick continued to slide down the pole and the rapid movement of his head wasn’t helping his arms stay strong.  The chilly water was numbing the ache in his shoulder, though, so he squeezed his arms harder around the pole, effectively slowing his descent.  His neck was in the water now but he was finally able to spit out the dirty cloth of the gag and lift his head so that he was looking up at the dock. 

            “Help!” he tried to yell, but it was difficult to be loud with his neck stretched so far back.  It was more like a semi-loud rasping sound and Dick hoped Batman was at least in the vicinity of the lake.  He shouted again but there was nothing except the sound of the wind.

* * *

            Batman was becoming frantic with worry.  It had taken him four and a half long minutes to search the entire forest around the perimeter of the camp and he had found nothing!  Had False Face really killed Dick like he had threatened over the phone?

            “Mike!” he shouted as he strode into the cafeteria.  Mike came running over and Batman grabbed his arm, pulling him as far away from the kids as possible.

            “I can’t find Dick Grayson anywhere around here.  Do you have any idea of the location of that old shack your man was talking about?”

            Mike frowned in concentration and Batman waited impatiently for almost two minutes.  The director’s face suddenly lit up, “There’s an ice fishing shack by Mountain Lake just north of here.  It’s right inside the camp’s boundary but it hasn’t been used in years.”

            “That sounds like a good place for a villain to hide a captive, then,” Batman replied as his eyes narrowed in anger.  “Thank you,” he threw over his shoulder as he turned and raced out the door.  He glared at False Face as he ran by on his way north, hoping that Dick was in the shack and alive.

            Different scenarios scampered around in Batman’s mind as he sprinted through the forest: Dick had died from hypothermia, Dick was dead by the hand of False Face, Dick had tried to swim to safety and was drowning, Dick was tied up in the shack and perfectly safe.  He hoped for the last one but False Face was a villain and Batman doubted that his ward was safe.

            A small shack came into view as Batman burst out of a clump of trees, almost running straight into what he hoped was Mountain Lake.  The water lapped against his boots and he swept his hand across it to test the temperature.  It was cold through his glove, which meant dangerously cold to a small body with absolutely no fat attached to any part of it.  Dick was probably in the shack, though, and Batman stepped away from the edge of the lake and ran ten yards north to the crumbling pile of wood, passing the dock shortly before arriving at the entrance.  He flung the door open and sunlight filled every corner of the little shack.  There were several cobweb-covered fishing poles, a small pile of shattered glass, an upside down pot, a metal table and a bat with a thin streak of blood on one side.  Touching his finger to the bloody mark and studying it carefully, Batman decided that False Face and Dick had been in the shack fairly recently.  The short length and shallow depth of the red stripe told him that it would have dried within an hour, even with the chilly temperature.  It was still slightly sticky – Dick had to be somewhere close, hopefully alive. 

            He turned around and walked onto the nearby dock, facing east and searching the water for a small body floating on the miniature waves.  He heard a quiet sound, like someone gasping for air, and slowly turned in a complete circle.  The only things he saw were the trees and the tiny building that was now collapsing in on itself.  He folded his arms across his chest, dropped his head and stared at the cracks in the planks of the dock.  W _here is he?!_

* * *

            Dick, his chin now covered in the freezing water, heard the clomping sound of boots on the wood above him and saw a large shadow fall across the water.  A small smile graced his lips; Batman was here.  At least, he hoped it was Batman.  False Face wouldn’t come back…would he?  Dick would just have to take the risk because he was about to drown.

            “Help!” he rasped one more time as loud as he could, still attempting to tighten his grip on the slippery pole.  His strength was virtually non-existent, though, and his time was nearly up.  The only thing he could do was take one last gulp of air before losing the fight with the rock and sliding silently under the surface of the lake.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who gave me kudos!

** Chapter 10: **

            One last idea drifted idly through Dick’s tired mind as he continued to sink slowly to the bottom of the lake.  He took his right hand off the wood and pushed the water up toward the dock as hard as he could, hoping some kind of movement would make it to the surface.  There was darkness all around him so he closed his eyes and struggled to keep his mind awake.

* * *

            Batman’s head flipped up when he heard a small ‘splash’ under the dock.  _Under the dock!_   He turned south, knelt down and looked over the edge – nothing.  He laid on his stomach and scanned the five supporting poles that were bathed in sunlight.  There was no evidence of anything and he was disappointed.  Was he so desperate to find his ward that he, _Batman_ , had actually imagined a noise?  This was a waste of time and Batman, shaking his head, began to move his body away from the water in order to stand up.

_Wait, what’s that?_   The sun was glinting off the water and, just before his eyes left the underside of the dock, Batman noticed a light sheen of something on the far pole, the only one not covered in the brightness of the sun’s rays.  Quickly pushing himself onto his knees, he turned around to the other side of the dock and ran his gloved hand down the splintered wood.  He pulled it away and was startled to find fresh blood sliding down his fingers.  Batman grabbed the edge of the dock, twisted himself around into the murky water and was shocked to see several streaks of wet blood running down the length of the pole.  A small bubble popped out of the water and burst and Batman immediately knew that Dick was somewhere down there, close to dying if he wasn’t already dead.  He took a deep breath and dove down, following the pole with his left hand as he descended.  His head suddenly hit something soft and he grabbed it, intending to pull what he could feel was a small body to the surface.  It was heavy, though, and it refused to budge.  Batman was running out of air but he kept going down until his hand hit a boulder at the bottom of the lake.  There was a chain on the boulder and Batman followed the metal links up with his hand, dismayed when he realized that it was attached to a small ankle.  A few inches above the chain there was a rope that encircled the pole, a large knot securing it around both the pole and the ankles of his dying ward.

* * *

            His arms were still wrapped around the pole and Dick was laughing in his mind as he watched clouds floating around, changing colors and shapes.  It was amazing to look at and he didn’t want it to end but something had just hit his body, bumping him around and causing the clouds to scurry away.  Now there was something tugging on his legs and he shook his head in disappointment – the clouds weren’t going to come back for a while because whatever had scared them away was not leaving.  He started to sigh but, for a reason that he couldn’t quite figure out, felt liquid slide into his lungs instead of air.  So, he shut his mouth and began to follow the last little silver cloud that was fading into the distance.

* * *

            Batman grabbed the Bat-knife from his utility belt and sawed at the rope around Dick’s legs.  He was starting to see little black dots and knew if he didn’t get air soon neither of them would survive.  Frustrated because he had to leave his ward behind, Batman pushed himself to the surface, took a deep gulp of air and dove down again.  This time he didn’t have to search and he quickly finished slicing through the rope.  Dick’s legs gently fell off the pole and Batman grabbed the boy’s small body under the armpits, pulling as hard as he could.  His ward’s arms were now stuck, though, and Batman felt around.  There was no rope or chain, just a pair of strong arms doing their best to remain still.  Confused but not having time to figure it out, he forced Dick’s arms apart and grabbed his armpits again.

* * *

            Pain.  There was nothing but pain now.  His lungs were beginning to hurt, his shoulders were protesting a tugging movement and now his arms were being shoved away from their near-frozen position.  Something heavy was pulling on his ankle and he idly wondered if his foot was going to fall off.  He remembered hoping that one of his arms would fall off and realized that both limbs were on the same side of his body.  That was going to make it difficult to do things: his body was going to be unbalanced.  Then he realized something else – it didn’t matter.  He wouldn’t need to balance when all he was doing was floating.  Floating in something soft, floating away from the pain, floating into darkness….

* * *

            The rock was huge and heavy and Batman suddenly doubted his ability to get them up to the surface by himself.  Dick, however, was dying so the hero didn’t really have a choice.  He pulled and jerked and kicked and finally made it to the top.  Gasping for air, he grabbed the pole with his right arm while hooking his left one around Dick’s chest.  The boy didn’t appear to be breathing so Batman quickly laid on his back, kicked away from the pole and aimed for the dark mud that was ten feet away. 

            Almost immediately he felt land squishing under his back.  He was relieved but knew they were still in danger.  Dick’s upper body was on the mud but they were on a slight incline.  Both the boulder and gravity were threatening to overpower Batman’s tired muscles and pull the boy right back under the water.  Unhooking his left arm, he pushed the limp form off and sat up.  As soon as he let go, Dick began sliding back down the slope but the now-standing Batman had his hands ready and was able to grab his ward’s wrists and pull them up over the boy’s head.  After again tugging and jerking the small body several times, he was finally able to get the large rock out of the water and both of their bodies on top of the short hill.

            Exhausted, Batman dropped to his knees beside the prone figure, turned his head to the right and placed his left ear on Dick’s chest, listening carefully.  There was a slow but steady beating and suddenly his ward was choking in the life-saving air as dirty lake water came spewing from his mouth.  Batman removed his head and put his right hand under Dick’s neck.  The water dribbled down the front of the boy’s chest as Batman elevated the head that was still limp.  He sighed wearily and smiled slightly.  His ward was alive, although his skin was freezing and he was shivering violently.  The grin quickly faded into shock when Batman saw the state of Dick’s left cheek – it looked like it had been sanded and there was a small piece of wood threaded through his cheek like a sewing needle.

            Dick felt warm air on his face and was suddenly able to breathe without liquid entering his lungs.  He gasped and choked and felt a heavy object on his chest, although it left just as he realized it was there.  Now there was a familiar gloved hand on his neck, holding his head up.  His eyes felt like they were glued shut but he forced them open and saw the easily recognizable cowl of Batman, although it was blurry and colorless.

            Batman gently lowered Dick’s head as the boy opened his eyes.  He took off his cape and, although it was just as wet as his ward, began wrapping it tightly around the trembling body.  Dick’s palms were facing up and Batman was stunned when he saw them: there were deep gashes crisscrossing the crimson-colored skin and splinters poking out of several of the fingers.  He had to warm Dick up before taking care of any non-life-threatening injuries, though, so he finished tucking the cape and then wiped the teen’s wet hair away from his red-rimmed eyes.

            “Dick?  Can you hear me?” Batman said loudly, noticing that his ward’s eyes were unfocused and slightly hazy.

            Dick blinked his eyes several times and Batman came into focus.  He looked different, however, and Dick frowned.

            “What’s wrong?  Can you understand what I’m saying?” Batman asked, concern in both his eyes and his voice.  He sighed in relief at the slight nod he received as an answer.

            “Why are you wearing a white Bat-suit?” the boy asked quietly.

            Batman was surprised at the question and scrutinized Dick’s face carefully.  “I’m not,” he replied and realized that Dick’s almost-drowned brain needed time to connect everything back together.  “Do you remember anything?” he asked, not expecting a positive answer yet.

            “Yes, unfortunately,” Dick replied with a tinge of fear in his voice.  Without being asked, he explained everything he could remember, beginning with the comments on the bus and ending with, “So now here we are, laying on the muddy ground and breathing in air instead of water.”  There were some gaps in the story and Dick knew he had missed something of significant importance.  He had been in Mike’s office with False Face and the villain had been answering all of his questions.  But…what were the questions that he had asked the man?

            Batman’s emotions were rolling around inside him: sympathy when he heard about the first day; anger at the boy who had attempted to torment _Bruce Wayne’s_ ward; concern when he learned about that boy’s death; pride when he heard how Dick had discovered that John was actually False Face; a little bit of irritation when his ward confessed to twice thinking about calling Batman but not actually making the call and fury when he saw the fear in the young teenager’s eyes as he explained everything that had happened after he was captured.  He showed nothing on his face, however.  A thought unexpectedly raced to the forefront of his mind.  The phone call to Bruce Wayne at two o’clock in the morning – Dick hadn’t mentioned that.  Batman opened his mouth to ask about it but Dick was already talking again.   

            “Did you catch False Face?” the teenager asked, trepidation evident in his tone.  He was suddenly worried that the man was hiding in the darkness of the forest, waiting for Batman to leave Dick lying alone in the mud.  Then the villain would come out and throw the boy in the lake, finishing the job that he had started when he tied Dick under the dock.   

            Dick’s thoughts quickly shifted another way and he wondered if Batman was interested in any part of the story he had recounted.  The man was just sitting there, not reacting to anything Dick was saying.  He remembered the words the villain had flung at him earlier – the ones about Batman not wanting to save a bunch of rich brats – and decided to find out if it was true. 

            “Does it even matter to you?” he abruptly continued without giving Batman a chance to answer his previous question. 

            Batman was confused by the second question so he answered the first, “Yes, False Face is tied to a flagpole back at the camp.”  He paused for a moment and stared at Dick, who was staring at the sky.  “Does _what_ matter?” he finally asked.

            Dick sighed and said softly, “Anything, everything, nothing, forget it.”

            “No,” Batman demanded quietly, “tell me.”

            “Does anything I just told you even matter to you?!” Dick looked over at him and began shouting in frustration.  “I mean, I’m telling you this long story and you’re sitting there looking bored!  Was capturing False Face the most important thing, so important that it was all you could focus on?”  He turned his head and looked up at the sky again, not really expecting any kind of answer.

            Batman was shocked and his face showed it – his jaw dropped open and his eyes widened.  He shook his head and quickly shut down the reaction.  Dick was right, though, and Batman’s eyes were suddenly full of regret.  False Face _had_ been important, more important than making sure everyone was in the sleeping group he had found in the cafeteria.  Dick could have _died_ because Batman had been focused on capturing the villain instead of the safety of the kids and adults.

            “Of course it matters,” he replied and Dick heard guilt in the tone.  “As Batman, though, I have to keep my emotions in check.  You know that,” Batman accidentally let a trace of accusation emerge with the last three words.  He cringed when he realized how he had sounded and opened his mouth to apologize, something he was not used to doing.  He didn’t get a chance to speak, however, because his ward began mumbling sadly.

            “But, for now, can you at least _pretend_ that you care about what happened and that one of my friends died in my arms and that I’m still scared out of my mind…” Dick trailed off and closed his eyes, not wanting Batman to see the tears that were threatening to spill over his lower lids.

            “Dick,” Batman said softly as he saw a tiny tear escape from the corner of the boy’s left eye, “I don’t have to _pretend_ to care.  I _do_ care.  I’m sorry that this happened and that you had to go through all of it alone but I’m here now.  You’re safe, okay?”

            “I almost _died_ ,” Dick whispered quietly as he forced the moisture to recede, “and it’s my fault!  If I hadn’t waited so long to call you, if I had been paying more attention _when_ I called you...I almost _died_!”

            Batman placed his right arm under Dick’s shoulder blades and helped him sit up.  He felt his ward flinch but decided that now was not the time to check that area for injuries.  Instead, he wrapped his arms around the teen’s trembling body.  “I know, Dick,” he was still speaking softly, “but you didn’t and you are safe now.  You did nothing wrong.  This all happened because of False Face, not because of any of your actions.”

            “I should have called you sooner, though,” Dick acknowledged.

            “I agree,” Batman replied.  He carefully let go of Dick’s still-shivering body, making sure his ward was able to stay upright on his own, and pulled his Bat-laser out of his utility belt.  He moved closer to the boy’s legs, aimed the Bat-laser at the chain connecting the large rock to the small ankle and thirty seconds later the metal snapped apart.

            “Can I have a look at those hands?” Batman asked after Dick’s body had finally stopped trembling. 

            Dick brought the right out from under the cape but the left refused to move.  Batman saw the hesitation and pulled the cloth off the boy’s body.  He looked at the bulging left shoulder and wondered how his ward had held onto the pole for so long with a severely dislocated shoulder.  His attention shifted and he stared at Dick’s hands in dismay: blood, both wet and nearly dry, covered his palms and Batman counted twelve splinters all together.

            Dick’s shoulder was on fire again – the numbness had worn off – and his left arm was trembling.  He saw Batman glance at the injury.  “Please fix it,” he whispered, agony obvious in his shaking voice.  The dancing rainbows in his mind were joined by the bursting stars behind his eyes and Dick knew he was about to pass out.

            Batman heard the quiet plea and held the swaying body upright while probing the joint.  His ward was gasping in pain and automatically trying to pull his shoulder away from the agonizing touch.  Dick’s eyes were rolling back in his head and Batman decided to allow the boy to drift into unconsciousness before re-setting the joint.  He was going to have to straighten it and shove it in – the arm was hanging diagonally away from the shoulder and was far removed from its socket.  The pain would be intense and Dick had already been through so much.  Batman gently laid the teen’s body on the ground and waited for him to fall asleep. 

            Dick wanted to leave the pain behind and fall into darkness but he had remembered some important information.  He forced himself to wake up, not realizing that Batman had just decided that it was time to fix the shoulder. 

            Batman manipulated the arm around and shoved it up, hard, until he heard the distinct ‘pop’.  He had been looking at the shoulder and was startled when a scream of anguish was torn from the throat of his young ward.  He looked at the boy’s face and saw wide blue eyes staring at him in shock.  Dick’s breathing was short and uneven so Batman rubbed his chest, attempting to calm him down. 

            “Sorry, Dick,” Batman apologized for the second time in less than ten minutes.  “Breathe with me, okay?  In and out, come on.”  Batman began breathing steadily, staring into his ward’s eyes, and was relieved when Dick’s breathing evened out to match his own.

            Dick couldn’t remember what information he had remembered before but the pain in his shoulder had decreased slightly and he was beginning to calm down.  He pushed himself up to sitting with his right hand then placed both hands on his lap with his palms up.

            “Good thing I still have some of my trapeze calluses, right?” Dick was trying to lighten the mood so he added what he thought was a grin. 

            Batman saw the corners of his ward’s mouth twist up into a pain-filled grimace.  Quickly catching on to what Dick was attempting to do, he pulled out his Bat-tweezers.  Examining the splinters carefully, he decided to start with the right hand.  It would give Dick’s left shoulder a chance to rest.  He felt his ward wince when he took hold of the right hand and held it up in the sunlight.

            Determined not to cry out anymore, Dick bit his tongue, then the insides of each cheek, then chewed his bottom lip, then clenched and his jaw and, finally, was able to relax as Batman put his right hand down.  The same thing happened with his left hand and Dick wanted to grab the Bat-tweezers and throw them into the lake by the time they were done.

            “There’s one more, Dick,” Batman stated stoically.  Dick moved his head around, searching his entire body, then stared up at Batman with a questioning look. 

            Batman allowed himself a small grimace when he said, “It’s in your cheek and it’s the biggest one.  Sorry about this.”  Before Dick could react to that comment, Batman had grabbed the end of the splinter that was threaded through Dick’s cheek and pulled it out. 

            Tears of pain burst out of Dick’s eyes without him even realizing they were there and he clenched his hands into fists.  That only made it worse, however, as the palms of his shredded hands started pulsing painfully and droplets of blood began to fall onto the ground.

            Batman pried Dick’s hands open and slapped a handful of cool mud into each one, hoping to ease the burning sensation that he knew Dick was experiencing.  It wasn’t sanitary but it would have to do for now.  He reached into his utility belt for some Bat-gauze and was disappointed in himself – there was only one piece left.  Sighing, he grabbed it and pressed it firmly against Dick’s left cheek, trying to be gentle at the same time.  The medical Bat-tape was in the same pocket and Batman used it to carefully secure the top and bottom of the Bat-gauze to the small cheek.

            Dick looked at Batman with pain-filled eyes and, with a touch of humorous anger, said, “Next time you pull a giant stick of wood out of my face, please give me some time to prepare myself for the small amount of discomfort.”

            Batman grinned slightly and stood up.  “I don’t have any Bat-ointment with me so we have to go back to the camp now.  Your hands need something better than mud and Mike has a first-aid kit.  Can you walk?”

            “It’s my hands that are torn, Batman, not my legs,” Dick rolled his eyes as he started to stand up and was surprised when he immediately found himself back on the ground.

            “I think your legs might be a little tired and numb,” Batman smirked at Dick, who glared up at him.  He grabbed the small torso and lifted it up so that the teenager was standing beside him.

            “Thanks,” Dick grumbled, already embarrassed that he was going to be limping or something equally un-cool in front of all the other kids.

            Batman wrapped his left arm around Dick’s waist and saw the emotion that was settling into his ward’s blue eyes.  “Don’t worry,” he stated, “your legs will be fine before we even get close to the campsite.  We have to walk about three and a half miles to get there and that’s plenty of time for them to warm up and regain some strength.”

            Dick shook his head; Batman was like a mind-reader!

            “You really do need to work on containing your emotions,” Batman commented as they started strolling toward the forest.  “A half-blind, two hundred-year-old grandma could have seen that you were beginning to feel humiliated just _thinking_ about walking into the camp like this.”

            “I don’t have to contain them as _Dick_ ,” the boy growled under his breath but Batman, of course, heard him.

            “That’s true, but you can always find something to work on while wandering through a forest on the way back to a camp filled with ‘snobby rich kids’ who are going to look at you like a hero, no matter how you arrive there.”

            Dick snorted, “A hero?  Right, Batman, because that’s what all rich teenagers think of when they see a small, wimpy-looking kid limping into camp and being _supported_ by a hero.”

            Batman grinned and stopped talking.  Dick would just have to wait and see, then.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who gave me kudos! :)

** Chapter 11: **

            There was a phone in the kitchen and Mike had used it to notify the bus driver, who lived an hour away from the camp, and was now calling each child’s parents.  Without going into detail, he let them know that the teens were coming home early and asked them to have a ride waiting for them.  The bus arrived and four of the counselors went through each cabin, packing everything and then loading the luggage into the storage bins at the bottom of the large vehicle.  All the kids were lined up in the cafeteria, waiting for Batman to return and allow them to board.  Bronte was at the head of the long line and glimpsed a small movement in the trees to the north.  He turned his head to stare out the closest window, apprehension clearly evident in his eyes.  Serina was in line behind Bronte and saw him look toward the forest.  They both squinted and finally realized that there were two people walking out of the trees.  One was tall and dark and had a commanding presence while the other was small and seemed to be limping slightly.  Bronte’s eyes widened when he recognized Batman; the smaller figure had to be Dick, then, right?

            Bronte sprinted away from the line and out of the cafeteria before Mike could stop him, Serina hot on his heels.  They both shouted Dick’s name as they got closer and the boy’s jaw dropped open in surprise.  Batman stopped walking and allowed his ward to continue on his own.  Suddenly Dick was on the ground, his still-tired legs not able to support both his weight and that of Bronte, who had grabbed the boy in a bear hug without thinking of the consequences.  Batman began striding to where his ward had been thrown to the ground, ready to toss the tall boy away from Dick, but stopped again when the blonde began speaking.

            “Oh, man, Dick, I’m so sorry,” Bronte said as he stood up and stretched his hand out, ready to help his friend get to his feet.  Dick hid his muddy, and still slightly bloody, hands behind his back and stayed sitting down while trying to catch his breath.

            “No apology needed, Bronte, I’m just a little tired.”  He was telling the truth but that wasn’t the real reason why he was still on the ground.  Dick hadn’t seen Serina circle around but he heard the loud gasp behind him and immediately squeezed his hands into painful fists again.

            “Dick, what happened?!” Serina practically shouted as she dropped to her knees beside him.

            Bronte looked confused and watched as Serina pulled Dick’s right hand out and gently forced him to open it.  Two pairs of eyes widened in shock and one pair closed in pain and embarrassment.  This is exactly what Dick had _not_ wanted to happen.  He felt the other hand being inspected and growled in his head.  Why couldn’t Batman just wait until everyone left before coming back here?

            “Dick?” Bronte whispered as he dropped to his knees on Dick’s left side.  Dick opened his eyes and shook his head so Bronte let it go.  Serina, however, was determined to get the boy to talk to them.

            “Dick Grayson, tell us what happened,” she demanded and both boys looked at her in surprise. 

            Dick mentally growled again when he noticed that everyone else had now gathered around and his hands were the focus of seventeen pairs of teenage eyes.  Did Batman _want_ to see him humiliated in front of his peers?!

            Everyone was talking at once, asking him what had happened with John and what had happened to his hands and why was there mud all over him and where had he been for the entire day.  So many questions were being hurled at him that he couldn’t even find a spot of silence to try to answer one, not that he wanted to.  Dick didn’t want to talk about _any_ of it and everyone was moving closer and he was feeling crowded and overwhelmed and wanted to yell at them to shut up.  But that wasn’t in his nature so he kept his mouth shut and glared at the shoes of the closest person.

            “Dick!” Serina wasn’t as loud this time but she was still demanding an answer.

* * *

            Batman smiled slightly as he watched the kids gather around Dick and begin asking questions.  He frowned, though, when the circle began to grow smaller.  There were too many people, too many questions and they were going to overwhelm Dick’s tired mind and body.  Batman strode toward the circle, ready to hurl the kids away from his ward, when he heard the demanding voice of the girl who had been the first to discover the state of Dick’s hands.  He crouched down and, through the mass of teenage legs, saw Dick.  The boy’s entire body was tense and he was glaring at the dirt in front of him. 

* * *

            “Stop!” Bronte suddenly shouted angrily at the circle of kids. He was holding a bloody hand on his lap and using his own water bottle to make more mud for the raw palm.  Immediately the group became quiet and Batman was impressed.  The blonde boy had, with one word, done what Batman hadn’t been able to do earlier – silenced the easily excited young teenagers.

            Mike, upon seeing the two walking toward the camp, had gone to get the first-aid kit.  He walked up to Batman and held it out, assuming that the hero would want to be the one to use it.  But Batman, who was now standing again, shook his head then nodded to the group.

            “Batman,” Mike whispered, “I doubt that any of them know how to use a first-aid kit and, from what I can see, those hands need knowledgeable medical attention.  Just because they are friends doesn’t mean they can take care of _everything_ he needs.”

            Batman nodded thoughtfully then looked at Mike, “You’re right but the mud can soothe his hands for now and the kids _can_ take care of this particular need.  Bruce Wayne told me that Dick was worried about being shunned and not having any friends.  It shouldn’t take being kidnapped to make friends with someone…”

            “You think this happened today, right now?!” Mike interrupted incredulously while still whispering.  “They’ve been friends since the first day, when Dick told everyone the story of how he became Bruce Wayne’s ward!”

            Batman raised his eyebrows in surprise, “He did?”  He wondered why Dick had left out that small detail when he was telling Batman the long story back at the lake.

            Dick, meanwhile, was fighting to keep the pain and humiliation from showing on his face.  He saw Serina’s arm reaching across his body so he quickly turned his head away.  There was no way he was going to let _anyone_ see what was underneath the bloody gauze that covered his cheek.  Both of his hands were occupied, however – mud was spilling through his fingers as Bronte and another kid, whose name Dick couldn’t remember, did their best to keep his palms cool.  So, Dick didn’t really have a choice when Serina gently pulled the gauze away.  One of the girls screamed in terror and fainted while most of the other kids backed away.  Dick looked at the ground and thought about what he was going to do to Batman when this was all over.  He probably looked like a monster with all the missing skin that he had scraped off his own face.

            Serina was horrified.  That man had treated one of her best friends like…she couldn’t even find a word to describe it!  She put a hand on Dick’s chin then gently lifted and turned his head so he was looking at her.

            “I will be right back,” she said and Dick was surprised at the anger in her voice.  “Don’t do anything except sit here and relax.”  Dick was just staring at her so she demanded, “Okay?” and was satisfied when he nodded.  She carefully replaced the gauze on his cheek then stood and marched over to where False Face was still tied to the flagpole.

* * *

            Batman was upset with himself now; Dick really _was_ being humiliated.  One of the girls had screamed like she had seen a monster and everyone else was backing away like they were scared of getting a deadly disease.  He saw the reason when the circle widened and began to dissipate: someone had uncovered Dick’s raw, bloody cheek.  Batman had not anticipated that and yelled at himself in his head when he saw his ward looking at the ground, embarrassment visibly manifested in the way his body had slumped in toward itself.  A minute later the group consisted of Dick, the girl who was now standing up and the two boys who were absently squishing mud into his hands while trying not to stare at the cheek.

* * *

            Serina stopped in front of False Face.  Everyone was staring at her and the villain was rolling his eyes at her look of anger.  She began speaking quietly to the man but nobody could hear what she was saying.  Dick saw her hands tightly clenched into fists and thought he knew what she was going to do.

            “Serina, stop!” he shouted and she glanced toward him then went back to glaring at False Face.  Dick started to get up but Bronte put his hand on Dick’s chest and forced him to sit down again.

            Batman watched as the girl replaced the Bat-gauze on his ward’s face and stomped over to the villain.  She looked furious and he watched her carefully, wondering what she was doing.  Glancing at Dick when he heard the yell, he grinned slightly when the bigger blonde boy prevented his ward from standing up and going over there.  Batman’s eyes widened and his smile disappeared, however, when the girl dropped to her knees and pulled back a fist that he hadn’t even seen.  He sprinted to the flagpole and stopped the girl’s hand before it reached the face of the villain then picked her up and turned her back toward Dick.  She started struggling and screaming at him to let her go, that this man deserved to be punched in the face for what he had done to Dick.  That lasted for about ten seconds before she went limp in his arms and dissolved into tears.

            The three boys on the ground watched in shock as Serina prepared to hit the villain.  Bronte stood and pulled Dick up with him, the latter grunting in pain as the older teen tugged on his injured left arm.  Apologizing softly when he heard the noise, Bronte wrapped an arm around Dick’s waist to support him and they ran toward their friend who was now sobbing in Batman’s strong arms.

            False Face went from startled – because the girl was about to hit him – to furious when he saw annoying, knows-too-much Dick Grayson running toward Serina with Bronte by his side.  The villain grinned slightly, although his eyes were still full of anger, when he saw Dick’s left cheek and muddy hands.  At least the kid had been punished but now he was going to tell Batman everything.  Using the kids of millionaires as lab rats had backfired because of one meddlesome thirteen-year-old boy.

            Dick and Bronte finally made it to Batman.  Bronte glanced at Dick with a question in his eyes and Dick nodded – he could stand by himself.  Releasing Dick’s waist, Bronte reached forward to pull Serina into his arms as Batman lowered her to the ground.

            The tiny needles were back, pricking every one of the nerves in his body, and all of the pain was starting to fully register in Dick’s mind.  His shoulder – although still in its socket – was throbbing again, blood was trickling from his hands and face and he started to feel dizzy.  He fought the urge to pass out, he didn’t want to seem like a wimp, but now his body was trembling and swaying slightly.  Dick’s vision blurred and he whispered for help, reaching his bloody hands toward both Batman and Bronte.  Neither one heard the quiet sound or noticed the slight movement and Dick dropped to the ground, unconscious before he hit the dirt.  


	13. Chapter 13

** Chapter 12: **

            Batman looked to his left when he heard the quiet thud of something colliding with the ground.  He was shocked to see Dick crumpled on his right side in the grass, his eyes closed and a trickle of blood sliding down his cheek.

            “Dick,” Batman shouted as he crouched down next to his ward, “can you hear me?!” 

            Bronte and Serina, their eyes full of fear, had dropped to their knees beside the motionless form of their friend.  The rest of the kids began crowding around, talking anxiously, and Batman lost his composure.

            “MIKE!” he roared and all the teens stopped talking as Mike pushed through the group.  “Get them out of here, now!” Batman demanded.  “I don’t care if you put them on the bus, herd them back into the cafeteria or take them swimming.  Just get them out of here.  _NOW_!” he thundered.  Mike and the other counselors started grabbing arms and shoulders, pulling the kids toward the bus and practically shoving them on board.

            Batman stared for a moment at Bronte and Serina then lowered his voice and commanded them to leave, also.

            “But, Dick…” they both started to talk at once and Batman gave them a mild glare.

            “I know he’s a friend but he needs space and so do I,” Batman’s voice was quiet but firm.  The two teenagers looked at each other and then down at Dick.  With tears shining in their eyes, they gazed up at Batman and pleaded with him to let them stay.

            “We’ll stay out of your way.  We’ll go back there,” Bronte pointed behind himself.  “Please, he’s one of my best friends!”

            “Please,” Serina added in a whisper and Batman nodded while impatiently waving them away with his right hand.  They sighed in relief and backed away from Dick’s unconscious figure, their eyes continuously watching the slow but steady rise and fall of his chest.

* * *

            False Face grinned as he watched the irritating Grayson boy fall limply to the dirt.  Perhaps there was a delayed after-effect to his formula, or maybe the boy had just lost too much blood.  The teens started to crowd around the small body and False Face chuckled when he heard Batman shouting at them.  It was obvious that the hero was attempting to contain the urge to shove them all away.  The camp director finally had everyone loaded onto the bus and False Face stared at the prone form of the boy who had discovered his plan but would, hopefully, never be able to tell anyone.  He started moving his body around, trying to loosen the ropes, and felt a slight give on his right side.  One of the knots opened up and False Face was surprised that Batman hadn’t used a Bat-knot.  That thought fled from his mind as he continued to struggle with the rest of the rope.

* * *

            “Come on, Dick, open your eyes,” Batman had the first-aid kit now, had already cleaned and wrapped his ward’s hands and was now working on the boy’s pale cheek.  He was a little confused; Dick hadn’t lost a lot of blood and Batman was frustrated that he didn’t understand why the boy was unconscious.  There was a snapping sound from the flagpole behind him but right now Batman didn’t care if False Face escaped.

            Serina was trembling in distress while Bronte was shaking with anger.  He had seen the villain laughing and was now watching the man try to escape from his bonds.  Bronte growled, jumped to his feet and raced around Batman’s right side.  Batman wouldn’t have reacted even if he had seen the kid and Bronte did what Serina had been prevented from doing: he punched John as hard as he could, snapping the man’s head over his right shoulder and into the metal of the flagpole.  The villain’s body went limp and Bronte wanted to hit him again but sprinted back toward Serina when he heard her gasp.

            “We don’t need Batman, Bruce,” Dick was mumbling, “so tell him to go home.”  His eyes were squeezed shut, trying to block out the intense pain in his head.  That wasn’t working so he abruptly threw his hands up and grasped it tightly while fiercely shaking it from side to side.  Serina gasped at the sudden movement as Bronte slid to a stop beside her.

            Batman was startled but he quickly pulled Dick’s hands away, placing them gently on the ground before grabbing the boy’s head with his own gloved hands.  The shift in control effectively stopped the violent action of Dick’s head and his breathing evened out.

            “Dick, wake up!” Batman commanded and wondered what False Face had done to the boy.  The sentence was very similar to the one Bruce had heard during that strange, early-morning phone call.  He was startled again when Dick’s eyes flew open, the blue orbs tainted with fog.  His ward continued to mumble and Batman leaned closer to hear the words:

            “Don’t send him, rich lab rats, I hate Bruce Wayne, help, we don’t need Batman, send Batman.”  Dick abruptly stopped and his eyes cleared slightly. 

            Batman narrowed his eyes as he processed Dick’s rambling phrases.  False Face had some kind of drug and was testing it on the kids.  A mind-control drug, from the sound of Dick’s contradicting statements.  Now he knew why his ward had been pausing and gasping during that call.  The boy had been fighting the drug, just as he seemed to be doing now.  Batman pulled a Universal Drug Antidote pill from his utility belt and slipped it into Dick’s mouth.  The color returned to the young face, the clouds in the blue eyes melted away and Batman dropped his head in relief.

            Suddenly Dick was yelling and his widening eyes were filled with anxiety.  “NO!  No, I don’t hate Bruce Wayne!  He made me say it…” he trailed off when he saw the look of understanding on Batman’s face.  

            It was a good plan, Batman had to admit that.  If Dick hadn’t come to the camp then False Face might have been able to perfect and use the drug.  Glancing over his left shoulder in order to glare at the villain, Batman was shocked to see the man unconscious.

            “It was, um, me,” Bronte confessed softly when he saw the look of disbelief on Batman’s face.  He was relieved and surprised when Batman looked at him and gave him a slight grin. 

            “Can we go home?” Dick asked as he carefully sat up, exhaustion masking the pain in his voice.  Bronte and Serina stared at Batman as they waited for the answer.  The bus was ready to depart and Mike was walking over to see how many other passengers were going to be leaving with them.  The director was carrying a small pack of ice in his right hand.  He gave it to Batman who placed it on Dick’s left shoulder and secured it with the rest of the medical tape from the first-aid kit.

            Batman knew he couldn’t take Dick home in the Batmobile but he didn’t want him to ride the bus, either.  He scowled as he remembered the things the other young teens had said and done, although he knew their words and actions were probably not intended to harm or embarrass his ward.  But, he also knew that the same thing would happen if he allowed Dick to ride the bus.  Then again…he looked over at the two kids who had pleaded to stay by their friend’s side.  They were staring at him and he unintentionally glared back thoughtfully.

            Bronte flinched when he saw the Bat-glare and dropped his eyes to the ground.  He shouldn’t have hit the villain; he was about to get in trouble with _Batman_!  Serina began watching some ants that were crawling around in the dirt; Batman was mad at them!

            “Can I trust you,” Batman addressed the two teens, “to take care of this young man on the ride home?”

            Bronte and Serina stared up at Batman in surprise.  Dick was going on the bus?  Batman was asking if he could trust them?!  Dick looked at Batman in amazement and then grinned slightly when he glanced at the faces of his best friends: they were in shock.

            Batman waited impatiently for an answer and wasn’t surprised when both kids slowly began nodding their heads.

            “Here are the rules,” Batman stated.  “Nobody is allowed to touch him, nobody is allowed to ask him any questions and everyone needs to give him space.  You, for now, are his bodyguards.  Do not let me, let _him_ , down.  Do you understand?” he demanded.

            Bronte and Serina nodded again and Batman saw the determination that was settling into their eyes.  They would keep his ward safe, he had no doubts about that now.

            Dick had managed to get on his knees and three pairs of hands were suddenly stumbling over each other to help him stand up.  Batman, although it was extremely difficult for him to do, pulled his hands away and allowed the kids to help Dick onto his feet.

            “Thank you,” Batman growled but the three teens knew he wasn’t angry.  He strode over to the flagpole where one of the more formidable counselors was keeping a careful eye on False Face.  Donovan was there, too, sitting cross-legged on the ground and drawing pictures in the dirt.  The man looked up when he heard Batman approach then sighed and extended his wrists, waiting for the distinctive ‘click’ of Bat-cuffs being attached to them.

            Batman glared down at Donovan and, for only the fourth time in his crime-fighting career, didn’t quite know what to do.  The man had just become a criminal but Mike had described the words and actions that occurred in the cafeteria right before they were all put to sleep.  There was more to this man than met the eye but Batman didn’t have the time to question him.  It was imperative that Bruce Wayne be at the bus depot before the kids arrived and, in order for that to happen, Batman needed to leave immediately.

            The one pair of Bat-cuffs in the hero’s utility belt were on the wrists of False Face, who was unconscious and tightly secured to the pole.  Batman took a step to his right, crouched down and used his Bat-cuff key to unlock them.  Removing them from around the wrists of the villain, Batman stood and shifted back to Donovan.  After fastening them around the man’s wrists, he stared into the sorrowful eyes of the former counselor.

            “That was not a smart idea,” Batman began.  “You have kids and you decided to help a villain?”  The hero shook his head then turned his gaze to the sky when he heard the ‘thump thump’ of the police helicopter.  Batman was surprised at himself; he hadn’t even thought about calling Commissioner Gordon.  _Mike must have called him._   Striding over to the landing aircraft, he began talking to the commissioner as soon as the man emerged from its belly.

            “He was desperate,” Batman flicked his head toward Donovan, “because he needed money for some reason.  You might want to find out his story before sending him to prison.”  He turned and strode to the Batmobile, which was parked in front of the idling bus.

            Commissioner Gordon watched Batman walk away then motioned to Chief O’Hara.  “We’ll take them both to headquarters, Chief, but put them in separate holding cells.”  Chief O’Hara nodded and, along with the officer they had brought with them, went over to escort the villain and the now-crying man on the ground to the helicopter.

* * *

            Bronte, Serina and Dick had been watching the minor drama unfold.  As the men were being led away, the teens turned around and began the short trek to the bus.  “Stay here,” Bronte instructed upon their arrival and climbed up the three steps into the vehicle. 

            Dick and Serina heard Bronte yelling out the rules that Batman had given them and Dick shook his head, laughter flashing through his eyes.  Bronte was one of the leaders and most of the other kids looked up to him.  Everyone was going to obey instructions from _Batman_ and Dick was grateful that his guardian was allowing him to ride home on the bus like all the other normal kids.

            Once everyone was loaded and situated, the bus began its six hour drive back to the depot where parents would be anxiously awaiting their arrival. 

            Randy – the chatterbox that False Face had tested two days ago – suddenly asked loudly, “So is anybody actually thinking about coming back here next summer?”  Everyone was quiet, no hands were raised in the air and Mike – who was sitting all the way in the back – was disappointed.  It had only taken one villain to shut down his beloved camp.

            Dick was thinking about everything that had happened.  He had enjoyed himself most of the time, although nearly drowning had been horrific, but he didn’t want to lose Robin for six weeks every summer.  Maybe he could get Bruce to talk to Mike about making some changes, like cutting the length in half.  Robin could take a three-week break.  On second thought, maybe a two-week break would be better.  He slowly raised his hand and heard some quiet gasps throughout the bus.

            Mike’s eyes widened in surprise when the small, gauze-wrapped hand of Dick Grayson gradually rose toward the roof.  Suddenly, there were thirteen other hands up in the air and excited chatter began drifting around the confines of the bus.  The camp director smiled, both in relief for his camp and amazement at the young teenager.  Dick was brave, smart and strong – both mentally and physically.  First, he had weathered the “circus brat charity case” storm.  Later, he had called Bruce Wayne and asked him to send Batman to the camp after somehow discovering that “John” was not who he seemed to be.  Last, but certainly not least, he had survived a near-death experience that Mike only knew about because Batman had told him.

* * *

            “Go to sleep, Dick,” Bronte whispered as he watched the younger teen struggling to keep his eyes open.  “We’re not going to let anything happen to you, just like Batman said.”

            Robin wanted to stay awake and hear all about how Batman had captured False Face but Dick was exhausted.  “Thanks,” he said softly and closed his eyes.

            Bronte and Serina situated themselves more comfortably and watched Dick carefully, glancing at him every few minutes to reassure themselves that everything was fine.  The bus quieted down as many of the kids began falling asleep.  Mike walked up the aisle, checking on everyone as he passed.  He stopped next to the row where two of the close friends were keeping a silent vigil on the third and smiled when they looked up at him.

            “Thanks,” he, too, whispered and they grinned back.  “I’ll take a turn so you guys can sleep if you want,” Mike continued but Bronte and Serina both immediately refused the offer.

            “Batman gave us strict instructions and we don’t intend to disobey,” Bronte said quietly and Mike nodded in understanding. 

            The director studied Dick one last time before sitting down in the seat by the driver.  The villain was in custody, along with Donovan, Grayson was going to be okay and his camp was probably going to be safe.  There was only one loose end and Mike was not looking forward to speaking with Walter’s parents.

* * *

            Dick sighed one last time.  If everything worked out the way he wanted it to then he might be coming back next year.  He had been an idiot and regretted arguing with Bruce about the camp.  His guardian had been right: he had made two really good friends and had fun, most of the time.  He hadn’t exactly been _fine_ but that didn’t matter anymore.   _Bruce is going to love holding this over my head_ was his last thought as he relaxed completely and fell asleep.    

* * *

**Several hours later:**

            Batman, in the Batmobile and close to arriving at the Batcave, was sighing in relief.  False Face was going back to prison and Dick was alive.  He grinned when he thought about the fact that he could tease his ward about being correct: the kid had two new friends and Mike had told Batman that everyone had been happy and having fun, most of the time.  Dick hadn’t exactly been _fine_ but everything was okay now.  Frowning, he began to anticipate a new storm that he might have to weather when his ward found out that he was never going to another summer camp.  _EVER._  

            Who should break the news: Bruce or Batman?  Bruce was the guardian but Batman was more intimidating.  Dick, of course, had Robin to fall back on and the young crime-fighter was intimidating in his own way.  Batman nodded as he came to a decision – it would be Bruce and Dick who would argue about camps and breaks.  Maybe it was a moot point.  Maybe the teenager would agree with Bruce and not want to go anywhere.  Maybe Bruce could keep him safe at home, away from lakes and abandoned shacks and untested drugs.  Maybe….

THE END


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